


Exacting Denouement

by QueenEchidna



Series: Achievement Hunter Minecraft [4]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: AU, AdventureMode!Ray, Angst, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Bromances can be seen as romances if desired, CreativeMode!Ryan, Eventual Character Death, Family, Fluff, Gen, Graphic mentions of character death, Minecraft, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 34
Words: 90,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenEchidna/pseuds/QueenEchidna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If I had never met you, I would’ve never met myself, I would’ve never been worth more than the clothes on my back and the bigotry imbedded into the crackling organ I am now able to, once again, address as my heart. Your companionship, no matter how strained, and your jokes, no matter how morally inept, have endeared me to you in a manner which you may refer to as <i>’Gay’</i>…Call me names as you may, because that’s the greatest part about you; through trouble, heartache, and death, you will always smile, and fill this bleak and dying world with a brilliance that surpasses anything before you.” </p><p>Geoff and his boys get into a bit of a pickle.</p><p>
  <i>[Friday updates: only exception being if something comes up.]</i>
  <br/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The inevitable Interaction

**Author's Note:**

> My, apparently, long awaited Achievement Hunter Minecraft AU has a couple chapters done and I decided to not wait any longer to post the first chapter and see how you readers like it so far.
> 
> (Summary quote is from the very end of the fanfic so yeah, shoutout to that particular spoiler)
> 
> D do hope you enjoy ^-^
> 
>  **EDIT**  
>  Sorry, random html problems were fixed, hopefully it won't do that in later chapters cos oh boy that was annoying to fix.

Sun peaked just over the horizon, illuminating the dreary plains and scarring the monsters back into the caves from wince they came. The zombies growled low in their mangled throats and drug their decomposing bodies into hiding to keep from burning in the sun. The Skeletons followed suit, their bleached bones clacking together as they walked, bows tucked away under their arms. A Spider, its crimson red eyes sparkling in the light, did not seem to mind it all too terribly, and settled comfortable under one of the few oak trees that towered over them, the shade offering the best place to rest for a tired arachnid.  


Enderman hissed with the growing light, the rays bouncing off their sickly-looking bodies and forcing them into the distance and to a place on the planet where the night offered its comforting embrace.  


Miles away, where the sun was moments away from breaching the horizon, a young hunter pressed himself against the tree, the feathers of an arrow pinched between his fingers as he knocked it to his bow. Small beads of sweat speckled his forehead and the heat from his breathing began to fog his set of blue goggles. He had not moved in about 30 minutes, and dared a peak around his hiding place to where a large spider, about 6 feet in diameter, was nestled in a clearing and feeding on a cow it had brought down.  


This was the point, the hunter thought as a determined scowl crossed his features, he needed to kill the spider less the infirmary go dry of anti-venom. And on a more personal note, he swallowed at the thought, his friend would die without the antidote for his infected bite.  


After a few deep breathes followed another few minutes of hesitant silence; he was ready to strike. One arrow could do it, right behind the head, and it would be done, and hours of stalking the beast would be worth it all.  


The first signs of the sun’s light shown in the starlit sky in the form of rich orange hues that entwined with the blue and black of the previous night just barely above the horizon. A breeze wafted through the trees, shaking the leaves throughout the forest and offering the hunter a moment’s relief from the heat manifesting itself as sweat on his brow- not that it was particularly hot, it was rather cold outside.  


He was as ready as he was ever going to be.  
With all swiftness he pulled back the string of his bow and dove from his place of cover, one eye was screwed shut and he used the other to aim at the beast before him. He felt confident as he watched the arrow glide smoothly and silently through the early morning air; he was going to kill this beast in a single shot, no need to hack it to bits, no need for his sword.  


The Spider hissed in annoyance as the arrow bounced off of the exoskeleton on its back. The Hunter stood in place, awestruck and ashamed that he missed a perfectly set up shot, and he was half-tempted to turn his bow on himself and end it all before this Spider did. “Oh….fuck it.”  


As the Spider lunged forward with all intent and purpose to mangle the survivor before him, but said survivor was having none of it. He reached into his blue backpack and pulled out a semi-ancient looking diamond sword, dry, cracking blood caked the blue tinted blade. He gripped the handle, his knuckles going white from the strain, and slashed down near the Spider’s head as it attempted to bite at him.  


The blade left nothing more than a scratch on its carapace-covered head, but it was deterred just long enough for the Hunter to jump over it and put all of his weight on its back. An angry hiss sounded through the trees as the Spider tried to buck the survivor off, trying in vain to reach its head around to sink it’s poison-covered fangs into him.  


“ _Fuck you_!” He screamed in fury, chopping down blindly at the beast he was stood upon. Soon enough the violent splatters of blood had his blue goggles blocked out by the creature’s mahogany colored blood. The Spider screeched and flailed in agony uselessly, crying out as the Hunter lobbed off each of its legs and began chopping at its neck without restraint.  


A final, weak cry sounded before the Spider finally gave out and lay limp on the forest floor, blood oozing from all over its body and into a pool beneath it. The Hunter, arms shaking after the strain of swinging the oversized sword, panted and stepped down off of the dead creature’s back.  


He slumped down against the corpse and ripped his goggles off, blinking when the sun’s rays hit his dilated eyes. Despite being used to such an attack and all that followed one, the Hunter cringed at the feeling of blood completely soaking his arms, chest, and splattered on his face.  


It was only after his adrenaline died out that he realized the Spider had left 3 deep gashes along his collar bone, chest, and arm; they were bleeding profusely and stung like a bitch, but he was prone to ignore his own injuries. With morning finally arriving, the Hunter knew he needed to get the Spider back to the village so the doctors could work on extracting its venom.  


After a couple minutes taken to catch his breath, the Hunter pushed himself to his feet and stored his sword away. He stepped around the Spider to collect the legs he de-limbed in the fight and shoved a few of them in his pack, ignoring the blood leaking from the ends and inevitably staining his backpack. With some amount of effort he hefted the body of the creature onto his shoulder, careful to avoid its fangs, which were still dangerously poisonous if he were to be pricked by one.  
In the wake of being out all night the Hunter felt fatigued as he began his trek back to the village on the edge of the forest, aggravated by his curly hair, matted with blood, blocking his vision. “ _I’m out after this_ ,” He growled through his teeth, shifting the corpse on his shoulder. “I’m just fucking _done_.”  


Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Hunter saw the sleepy village he had been bunking at; a few farmers already out and tending to the wheat crop waved at him friendly. The gravel paths leading through the town were a welcome improvement over the uneven terrain plaguing his weakened legs. He breathed in the comforting scent of pastries from the village bakery, the fresh bread in the window proving to be tempting in light of his hunting outing without food.  


It took a minute or so but the Hunter finally found the small medical wing attached to the village church, and elbowed open the door, greeting the doctor through heavy breathes. “Mr. Jones, I was worried you would not return.” The Doctor, a stout, homely-looking woman, admitted.  


Throwing down his pack and the Spider’s body, he said, “You may call me Michael ma’am,” He sat down on the nearest surface and began kneading his sore shoulder, “And there’s no need for worry, I knew I was coming back.” He caught sight of his friend in the farthest medical berth before turning back to the doctor, “How is he?” Michael asked worriedly.  


The Doctor sighed, but was obviously trying her best to look positive, “Well he hasn’t exactly gotten worse,” She began hesitantly, “But he has not gotten better either, I’m sad to say.”  


“Well I brought back the spider you need,” Michael pointed out as he picked up the Spider’s body again, “So you can make the anti-venom for him right?” He asked hopefully, dropping the bloody corpse on the operating table off to the left.  


The Doctor seemed repulsed by the body, but smiled regardless. “Oh yes dear boy we’ll have Mr. Ramsey fixed up in a jiffy. I’ll call for my nurses immediately and we can have the anti-venom whipped up in an hour.”  


Michael nodded and offered his thanks as the Doctor hurried from the infirmary, closing the wooden door behind her. With nothing better to do, the Hunter stepped over to his ill companion and leaned back against the wall, rubbing his sore temples. Of course it was starting to sink in that he had probably successfully saved his friend, but he was still hurting, and he was still having a personal dilemma in the respects that he could not get over the fact that he missed the kill shot on the Spider.  


He is Mogar, he’s killed hundreds of monsters, and quite a number of people, and yet he could not use a goddamn bow and arrow to save his life, to kill a single spider- not even an entire colony of them; just one pathetic arachnid that managed to temporarily best him.  


In hind-sight, Michael admitted that using the bow and arrow was not his best idea, especially since he had so much on the line that relied on him killing that spider. He had never been that good with a bow, and that much the Hunter could admit, and he was finding it hard to explain his reasoning behind using one earlier. “ _Stupid, stupid, stupid…_ ” Michael groaned, rubbing his face exasperatedly and slumping down into a chair.  


In the silence of the room he was left with his own thoughts as he waiting the Doctor’s return. There were no sounds, aside from his friend’s labored breathing and the occasional _of the morphine drip attached to his arm. In his nervousness Michael began bouncing his leg, fingers twisting into his bloody, matted hair. Had they been in a city or even a larger town, at the very least there would have been the steady beeping of medical machines to lul him to sleep; but since they were only in a small town, Michael’s ears rung in the overpowering silence of which he was not used to.  
_

After a few minutes of dead silence, he angrily got to his feet and nearly punched the wooden shutters on the window open to get some air. As the shutters flew open, one of then hit something with a dull _thud_ and someone exclaimed, “ _Oof_.”  


Michael was going to ignore it, because he truly could not give three shits at the time being, “Ow, I wos walking here you knob!” Upon hearing the voice, he feigned interest and glanced out the window with little concern. Pulling himself to his feet was a survivor perhaps a tad older than Michael, but definitely less battle-worn; he was clad in alternating bright and dull green clothes with a heavy-looking satchel on his back, and a posh green scarf with a Creeper pattern sewn into it. The fool looked like a two-legged Creeper.  


Michael scoffed just thinking about how someone could honor such a vile creature by dressing as one, and could not help but feel a bit offended, having known many to die by the explosion of a Creeper. “Wasn’t my fault you walked in front of the window I was opening. Now get lost.” Michael snapped, and turned his back on the other survivor.  


Obviously upset by the Hunter’s disregard for pleasantries, the green-glad young man pulled out his bow and knocked an arrow faster than Michael could leave his line of sight. The arrow left the bow swiftly and caught a bit of Michael’s loose hood and pinned it to the wooden post he was passing; exactly where the Archer had aimed.  


Michael is thrown off-guard for a few moments as he looks at the arrow and back at the Archer, a furious grimace engulfing his visage. Unable to pull the arrow from the wood, he jerks away and tears off the bit of his hood whilst he grabs his diamond sword. “You trying to kill me you punk bitch? Do you know who the fuck I am?” In one swift motion Michael launched himself through the window and slashed at the other survivor, not letting up even when the other threw his bow at him in defense.  


“Wait-wait I wasn’t shooting at you! I’m sorry!” The Archer, seeing as though his assailant was not going to let up, bent down and picked up a stick, smacking Michael’s sword out of his hand and booking it in the opposite direction.  


Michael mumbled a few indecencies under his breathe and turned back towards the medical wing, picking up the Archer’s bow as he walked. He turned it over and over in his palm, running his fingers over the engravings and every little tick-mark on the handle; it was clear enough that he had cared for it greatly, and had had it for a long time. He sighed and slumped back into his chair next to his friend, trying to ignore the fact that he was starting to feel bad about taking something of such great importance to the Archer.  


_._  


Three hours later, Michael jerked himself awake, casting his blurry gaze around the room. His head still hurt, but at least he was no longer exhausted, and his injuries had begun scabbing and only brought about an irritating itch. It became apparent that the bed he was sat next to was now empty, and he felt a pang of panic cloud his better judgment as he sprung to his feet. “Geoff?” He called, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and trying to focus. “Geoffrey?” He called out again.  


Still panicking Michael ran to the door and yanked it open, stepping outside into the sunlight. It was 9 in the morning, evident by the placing of the sun in the sky and the older children running about with their schooling books.  


“Michael?” A voice beckoned him from his left. He looked towards the voice and instantly relaxed when he saw his friend, Geoff, sitting on a bench a mere few yards away.  


Geoff smiled at his friend and waved him over, but as Michael approached he noticed the Archer from earlier sitting alongside Geoff laughing along with some joke that had been told. “You?” The Hunter glared at the Archer accusingly.  


It took him a moment, but the Archer inevitably threw an insulted glare right back, albeit still a bit frightened by the memory of Michael’s violent show of temper earlier that morning. He stood to his feet and took a defensive stance, ready to settle their short-time rivalry before things got out of hand again. However, as he opened his mouth to speak, the Archer caught sight of his favorite bow wrapped tightly in Michael’s fist; any heir of pride he threw up was ripped down by the sight of his prized bow wrongly held in the hands of the brute.  


“Hey, give me my bloody bow back you ignorant spaf!” He demanded, taking a few daring steps forward and holding out his opened palm.  


“Like _hell_ I will; you fucking shot at me!” Was Michael’s instant reply, voice elevated into a shout.  


The Archer’s brow twitched in annoyance, “ _You_ almost chopped my freakin’ head off!” He accused.  


By this point Michael was simmering with anger, his face noticeably red behind the dried blood he never washed off. Geoff decided that watching the two rip each other’s throats out was not going to be as enjoyable as he originally thought, so he stood to his feet and thrust himself between the two. “Alright girls, you’re both pretty,” He joked, trying in vain to lighten the mood.  


Both assailants seemed to digress once Geoff began to mediate and turned away from one-another with their arms crossed. Geoff sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like an old man amidst such a show of childish ignorance. “So I assume you met while I was knocked out?” He began carefully. “Have you, uh, introduced yourselves?” He asked.  


The question seemed to get both the Archer’s and Michael’s attention and they turned back towards Geoff, still refusing to make eye-contact with one-another or stop looking like they were ready to kill someone. “Have you?” Geoff questioned Michael, who shook his head.  


“No sir…”  


“Well then, go on.” Geoff ordered, stepping back and putting his hands on his hips.  


Neither the Archer, nor Michael moved for a solid minute before the green-clad survivor got fed-up with the silence, “ _Fine!_ ” He pushed out his hand, beckoning a hand-shake. “My name is Gavino Free: Survivor, archer. Don’t ask me about my family because I don’t really ‘ave one, don’t have a home either, I’m just passing through so I’ll be out of your hair soon, _Mister Jones_.” He sneered, glaring daggers at Michael as he finished speaking. “You can just call me Gavin though.”  


Michael shifted his shoulders, retaining his anger by taking a deep breath, “ _My_ name is Michael Jones,” He hesitantly reached out and shook Gavin’s waiting hand. He glanced at Geoff who made a _’Go on.’_ motion with his hand. Michael sighed, “I’m a Survivor, a fighter, and Geoff here is my boss, in some manner of the term.” He cleared his throat, “You, uhm, may know me as _Mogar_ also.”  


Unexpectedly, Gavin reared his head back and belted out a loud bout of laughter, drawing his hand away from Michael’s. Confused, the Hunter glowered at his laughing companion, also throwing a questioning look at Geoff, who only shrugged. “What the hell is so fu-“  


“You! You’re not Mogar! _The_ Mogar? Born in the caves, lived there until he was 17 and then fought his way out, only to die at age 23 at the hand of a Creator?” He laughed again, holding his midsection, “No…no Mister Jones; you are not Mogar.” He took a deep breath, having found it all to be quite funny. “Sorry champ, you’re just regular old Micool.”  


There was no hesitation as Michael lurched forward and landed a devastating right-hook to Gavin’s nose, and then brought his left fist up for a jaw-bruising uppercut; he did not stop there and continued to batter Gavin with merely his fists.  


Only after a number of direct hits to Gavin’s face, chest, and midsection did Geoff finally forcefully grab Michael’s arms and held him in place, even as he thrashed about, still trying to attack the Britt now bruised and bleeding before him. “Michael, stop, it’s okay he didn’t mean that! He’s just an idiot farm boy, c’mon settle down!” Geoff urged, using his body weight to pull Michael away and sit him down on the bench.  


“I should kill you right fucking now you piece of shit! How _dare_ you say I’m not who I say I am!” Michael yelled before he pushed himself down in the seat and began to catch his breath and calm down.  


Geoff hustled over to Gavin’s side and helped him upright, looking over everywhere Michael had hit him. He was startled to see welts on the Archer’s skin that did not look like regular knuckle imprints, and he turned back to his friend resting on the bench. “Michael…do you have something on your hands?” He asked, eyeing the Hunter’s still tightened fists.  


“Yeah my gloves, I always have them on.” Michael held up his hand backwards to Geoff and revealed small iron spikes along his knuckles. It was clear by the small splatters of blood along the silver extrusions that he had done a number on Gavin, also apparent by the red welts now starting to bruise and his bleeding right eye.  


Geoff cringed when he noticed how swollen and grotesque the Archer’s eye was, and sighed, “Dammit, I didn’t think it was possible, but I think you’ve broken his eye.”  


After hearing the fight, the Doctor and a few nurses rushed out of the front of the medical wing and hurried to Gavin first, picking up the lightweight survivor and taking him inside with care. The Doctor walked back out after about 45 minutes to find Geoff helping Michael bandage his wrist; apparently the Hunter did a number on his right arm whilst doing a number on Gavin’s face.  


She looked concerned, but also minutely annoyed as she approached the injured survivor. “Mr. Jones, a few of the villagers have come to me today, and,” She hesitated, “And we’ve had some complaints about your temper and acting out over the past week. I’m sorry to say I agree with almost all they have to say.” Acting very carefully, she handed over a small vile of painkillers to Geoff for Michael.  


Geoff stood up and offered an apologetic look, “Look I’m very sorry on Michael’s behalf. I will vouch for him from here on out: he will no longer be-“  


“No, Mister Ramsey,” She interrupted, clasping her hands together. “There are many children in the village; we cannot have them exposed to such unprovoked violence,”  


“ _It wasn’t unprovoked._ ” Michael murmured angrily, but the Doctor did not hear.  


“The Mayor has asked me something that…I honestly wish I could protest to,” She nervously began to fiddle with the stethoscope around her neck. Her pale eyes darted around, and when she focused on one person she preferred to look at Geoff, also slightly afraid of Michael’s temper. “You’ve been asked to leave _Hedgetown_ by dusk; including Mister Jones, Mister Ramsey, and Mister Free.” She sighed, “I’m sorry.”  


Geoff slumped back onto the bench and buried his face in his hands. After a few moments he looked back up, “Are you sure something can’t be worked out Doc’? I just got cured of a Cave Spider bite; I could really use the rest.” He pointed out, looking completely drained.  
The Doctor shook her head forlornly and stepped away and back into the medical wing, sparring a second glance at the rough-looking pair on the bench before shutting the door behind her.  


Geoff and Michael sat in silence for a good 20 minutes, either because they had nothing to say to one-another, or Michael’s angry vibes were scaring Geoff into being quiet until he calmed down. The Boss messed with the green leather armor on his arms, and loosened his headgear armor to be more comfortable; he made a mental note to scold somebody later for not removing his, frankly very uncomfortable armor before allowing him to lie unconscious in a bed for 3 days.  


Finally, Michael pushed himself to his feet and stormed up the stairs of the medical wing, only to be stopped by Geoff, who grabbed his arm just before he reached the door. He threw a confused look at his companion and tried to jerk his hand away, “What’re you doing man? We’re getting kicked out of town, there’s no need to make it worse.” The older survivor warned, his brow angled down in agitation.  


Michael jerked his arm free successfully and sighed, “I’m not going to make anything worse. I’m returning the idiot’s bow, I don’t want to carry it around all day.” He admitted, taking hold of the handle. As he pulled at the door handle, the door itself was forced open from the other side and smacked Michael in the nose. He cringed and stumbled back, cupping his nose with one hand and reaching out instinctively just happening to grab Geoff for support.  


Gavin, on the other side of the door, recoiled when he heard the _thud_ of the wood hitting Michael, and was half-tempted to shut the door and hide under the berths. “Oh dear,” He mumbled, hesitantly opening the door and addressing the other two survivors. “I’m very sorry Michael, I honestly didn’t mean to do that! I can get you some bandages if you’d like…” Gavin offered nervously, wringing his Creeper-patterned scarf in his hands.  


Annoyed but having calmed down enough to understand, the Hunter waved him off as he wiped the blood from his nose, “It’s fine dude, it’s fine, okay shut up.” He ground out, “I was coming to give you this.” He thrust out Gavin’s bow, basically shoving it into his arms, taking a moment to notice the brown leather eyepatch over Gavin’s right eye.  


Gavin looked befuddled but nodded in thanks, experimentally running his fingers over the bow to make sure it was in check; seemingly satisfied he stowed the bow over his shoulder and offered a small grin. “Thank you, I wos worried I’d never see it again.” The silence that ensued was awkward, and Gavin rubbed the back of his neck.  


“The Doctor told me about our little dilemma,” He stated, “About getting kicked out of town. I guess we really did a number on our good names.”  


Michael chuckled, “My _’good name_ ’ was testy at best to begin with.” He admitted good-naturedly, ushering his companions down the steps and into a grassy area nearby. “But uhm,” He stuttered, admittedly a bit nervous about trying to talk civilly to the survivor he was quite ready to kill earlier. “I…apologize for my outburst earlier. I guess it was a little over exaggerated on my part.”  


Gavin chuckled lightly, “Yeah I’m sorry too, I just cannot believe that you’re-“  


“Stop,” Michael interrupted, raising a hand in front of him. “Listen, _Archer_ , I don’t care if you don’t believe me; if you don’t think I’m actually Mogar. And I don’t care about your damn apologies, and to be honest I’m not going to feel too bad about kicking the shit out of you by tomorrow morning. And if I ever get the unfortunate news that you got eaten alive by a zombie, I’m not going to be upset at all. So just…stop. ‘Kay?” With that, Michael was satisfied that he had summed up his feelings towards their meeting and turned and walked towards the hut that he and Geoff were bunking in.  


Gavin and Geoff remained in place for a bit longer, Gavin looking more than a little befuddled with the hasty conversation and then being left in the dust. “Don’t worry, social interaction is _not_ his thing.” Geoff began with a smirk, but then seemed to second guess himself, “But, it may or may not be personal at this point, I’m not going to promise you anything.” He shrugged and began to follow in the Hunter’s wake.  


Before he got too far away, he stopped and turned back, “Hey, uhm, Archer,” Gavin looked at the older survivor when he was called, “I know you said you’re passing through, and I don’t know if you have anywhere to go, but…well we’re always looking for company. The only reason we tend not to have any company is…well, Michael’s temper tends to deter people.” Again he chuckled, “But if you can look past that, I’d appreciate your company.” He smiled truthfully and placed a friendly hand on the Archer’s shoulder.  


“Really?” Gavin pondered, a bit awestruck at the offer. “I would…I would love to!” He had the biggest grin as he nodded hurriedly.  


It was Geoff’s turn to be surprised. “For real dude? Even though Michael almost fucking killed you and successfully _handicapped your right eye._ ” He did a quick double-take at the other’s bandaged, and patch-covered eye. “Are you sure?” He looked so concerned and that made Gavin smile.  


He tossed an arm casually around Geoff’s shoulder, “Already trying to get rid of me huh Geoffrey?” He laughed.  


Geoff grinned, trying to hide his excitement; a new member to their team of vagabonds, of course he was going to be excited. Though the ever lingering task of breaking such news to Michael was a daunting mountain in the near distance; considering he had not run the idea by Michael or even mentioned it in fear of evoking his rage.  


He sighed; it was going to be a long day.  


_._  


“I cannot believe you invited this idiot along.” Michael _hmphed_ as they took the last few steps out of _Hedgetown_ , and into the least intimidating-looking biome they could see. The tall grass of the plains bristled by Michael’s bare lower legs, making him swipe a hand down to relieve the tickling feeling. It was oddly quiet due to the lack of fallen leaves, nothing to crunch beneath their feet other than the occasional twig or patch of dry grass.  


Geoff chuckled lightly, “Oh come on dude,” He nudged the Hunter’s shoulder, “He’s just a kid, I’m pretty sure he’d get eaten by zombies if he was sent out at night alone.” His eyes caught the eager brunette walking a few paces ahead of them, “Or maybe he’d just get adopted by creepers…” He laughed, “Hey Gav why do you dress like that anyway?” He called out.  


Gavin make a quick spin on his heels and waited for the other two survivors to catch up to him. Once they did, he jammed himself between Geoff and Michael, turning to look at the older of the two. “No reason that’s really notable, though a lot of people get offended by my outfit, as ludicrous as that is.”  
“I know people who’ve been killed by Creepers.” Michael mumbled under his breathe, jamming his hands into his pockets. “It’s not ludicrous that people are scared.” He admitted, grinding his teeth, annoyed by their new traveling companion’s ignorance.

Gavin paid him no mind. Rather he hadn’t been listening. “But think about how cool they are, minus the whole _killing people_ thing!” He exclaimed, “Their entire existence is to sneak up on people and use a kamikaze explosion to off people. Think about it; their entire life is destined to end in an explosion, killing themselves.” 

Michael scoffed quietly, “Well you’re a Creeper, so go blow yourself up. It’ll be doing me a favor.” He said. 

Again Gavin chose not to hear him. 

“Where are we headed anyway?” Gavin mumbled after a few minutes of comfortable silence. 

Without hesitation, Geoff raised his hand and pointed out onto the horizon, over the rolling hills and towards the setting sun that seemed no more than a few feet above the earth. “We follow the sun in the morning; east.” He began, shuffling through his bag to find something. “Today…” He talked sporadically as he occupied himself more with scouring his belongings rather than talking, “Specifically… _ah_ ,” He exclaimed as he pulled out a pair of crude binoculars and slapped them into Gavin’s hands before he pointed into the distance again. “Specifically, we’re headed to that.” 

Through the binoculars, Gavin squinted through the afternoon mist and into, what appeared to be another biome with noticeably tall trees. It was hard to make out anything more than a few green slivers of color over the rolling hills, all framed between the ridges of a distant mountain range; it must have been at least 170 kilometers away, most likely far more depending on how large those trees were. “A rainforest biome?” He murmured in surprise. He lowered the binoculars and starred at Geoff, “There aren’t many of those left, how have you managed to track one down?” He wondered in awe. 

Taking back the binoculars and stuffing them back into his back, Geoff smirked smugly, “Well me and Michael just came from a 2-year expedition that left me with a “fatal” cave spider bite in _Hedgetown_. The only thing we have to act on now is that rainforest biome. We got word of it about 250 kilometers back west, in the tundra from an old shop-keep. We’re going to hopefully set up an outpost.” 

“Outpost?” Gavin asked without skipping a beat. 

Geoff nodded, “Yeah me and Mogar here set them up occasionally in strategic areas, live there for a few months, stock up the outpost, then leave.” He explained nonchalantly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

_Gavin seemed satisfied with that._

Later in the afternoon just before the sun was hidden by the ever looming mountains, following the short spat that followed involving Michael slapping Gavin in the back of the head for _”saying something stupid”_ , Geoff stopped them in their tracks by letting out a long sigh and dropping his pack. 

Michael looked at him crookedly, and stopped dead, thereby causing Gavin to stumble at the sudden action; or rather the lack thereof. Before the Hunter could manage to form any words, Geoff spoke, “Time for dinner kiddos.” He said pointedly. 

Gavin eagerly plopped himself down near the Boss’ bag and began rummaging through his own belongings, but Michael just stood a couple meters away, looking dumfounded. “Geoff,” Finally he spoke, slowly and unsure, “we _never_ have dinner while so exposed, why the sudden change.” Since Geoff seemed to be ignoring him, he hustled over next to the older survivor and insisted in a hush whisper; “Geoff, you know I don’t like change, this makes me very nervous, what’s up?” He wondered with only the slightest bit of aggravation. 

With nonchalant ease, Geoff turned to his friend and grinned, “Listen, the kid’s stomach has been rumbling for the past hour, I can’t let him wait till tomorrow just to get a bite to eat.” He admitted in a hushed tone, shrugging, “I might have an apple since I didn’t eat for the whole time I was out cold.” He pulled out two apples and handed one to Michael, “Besides it’s getting dark, we should set up camp.” 

Michael twitched, “Geoff!” 

“Look,” The older man cautioned, “I know we’re exposed out here, but we’ll be fine. Relax.” Geoff ordered and bit into his apple noisily. Michael dodged so the apple juices wouldn’t hit him in the face. He stood straight again. 

It seemed Gavin had this never-ending array of dumb jokes and stories to tell, all of which Geoff laughed at, even the ones that weren’t meant to be funny; he told Michael and Geoff eagerly about his village where he was born, how he was raised by a tracker, learned to use a bow and arrow as to not damage the pelts and furs that the people of the village so gravely needed. 

Michael sneered at him the entire time, feeling more and more hopeless as the other prattled; there was no way he was going to be able to stand this moron for more than a couple days. Listening to Geoff talk was different, Geoff told _stories_ , and taught him things he never knew, rather than talk and talk about himself and over explain the most pointless facts. 

“I can’t stand people who kill other people,” Michael’s head snapped back towards the green-clad survivor, he was chewing away on bits of shredded, dried beef, “It’s like-” He chewed and swallowed noisily, “It’s like; as if we don’t have enough issues living in this world already what with zombies and Endermen, I mean, we don’t need _people_ killing each other.” He stated very matter-of-fact. 

Michael bristled, and saw Geoff look towards him warningly, putting a hand up to halt him, but it was no use, Mcihael didn’t take his gaze away from Gavin, eyes narrowed dangerously behind his goggles; reflexively he bared his teeth and fingered the hilt of his sword stored at his belt. Gavin took notice and quirked an eyebrow, “What?” He inquired, setting his food down, “Are you a murderer _as well_ as a brute?” He let out a smug huff through his nose, “You _sure_ keep good company Geoff.” He drawled and bit into his food again. 

Geoff sprang to his feet, pulling his iron blade and holding it up towards Michael, who began to advance to aggress the Archer; Geoff glowered angrily at the younger man and parried Michael’s anger with the dangerous blade pressed up against his chest. There was a look in Geoff’s face, the way he was stood with his shoulders squared and posture tense; he was deadly serious and Michael acknowledged that, and digressed. 

Watching the other Survivor move his hand away from his sword was comforting, so Geoff let himself relax, stowing his own blade in its sheath and returning to his seat in the grass, meeting Gavin’s confused gaze. “Yeah,” Geoff chuckled, “I do. And I’d appreciate it,” He said as he began to pull materials from his satchels, “If you didn’t make him angry,” He plunked down a few planks of timber and got his axe out, “While being a smartass.” He smirked, and ruffled the younger Survivor’s hair. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's about 12:25 am on Friday morning and I'm not waiting to post the next chapter since it's my first weekly update ^-^  
> Next Friday I'll be at Katsucon but my hotel should have wifi so I'll probably still post whenever I have a break. Enjoy this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're not alone...

It was a week later when Geoff awoke silently sometime long before dawn, but far too recent of him falling asleep; he felt his body protesting the rest, his legs were shaky but not from strain, and his eyes would not remain shut, and fluttered open when he leaned back and tried to sleep again. He had no luck. So he stood up and got to work putting his armor of painted green leather on, the clasps cold against his warm skin, and belts rough against his sleep-sensitive digits.  
There was a film over his eyes that he could not rub away quite well enough to squint through the darkness of their makeshift tent, so instead he shut his eyes and listened, listened to the two other survivors’ breathing, to the shifting of the grass outside, the faint whistle of the wind; and other than Michael’s occasional mumble, everything was serene. 

His eyes remained shut when he stood and strode over to the door, feeling for the handle, and opening it with all manner of caution as to not make it creak and assault his Hunter’s hyper-sensitive hearing. Shutting the door behind him, Geoff let the cool night air fall over him and his achy muscles; he reached up and felt the two scabs on his shoulder where the spider bit him and sighed, grateful to be alive still. 

A cow called off from somewhere else in the vicinity, and Geoff’s eyes flew open and he reached for the ruddy old bow he and Michael kept, and the quiver of arrows leaned against the side of the tent. Even with his eyes glazed over he crouched low and snuck around the side of the tent and looked out; the world was a mess of colors, mostly dark and green, and he could make out the crescent curve of the moon which illuminated the plains just enough for him to see a faint movement in the distance.

Geoff breathed in deep and closed his eyes, not trusting his feigning eyesight, and opened his ears; the breeze was whistling but not loud enough to mask the telltale crunching of dry grass from across the way, comparatively loud amongst the peace of night. He breathed evenly and raised the knocked arrow to eye-level, taking aim at the moving figure in the distance, which was little more than a dark, traversing blob vaguely outlined by the dark blue sky and contrasted by the paleness of the grass. 

_Ccrhh_

Geoff froze and his breath hitched. The noise came from far behind him where a low hill loomed above the flatlands, a noise that had no precursor, nor another sound to coalesce along with it; not an animal, not a monster.

With an even stillness, he waited until a firm hand came to rest on his shoulder, a brief glance showed the blunt nails and bruised knuckles that he knew belonged to Michael; the hunter was crouched by his side, a diamond sword in hand and a stolen expression firm in place. The focused expression was something he was used to seeing when things seemed to be just fine; Geoff remembers time after time when Michael came to him with this very expression. In fact, Geoff realized, Michael probably heard something minutes ago and has only now come outside to check it out.

There was another sound, but Geoff turned to see Gavin in the doorway of the tent, his expression confused, but surprisingly, not scared; he had his bow tight in hand, and froze when the older survivor threw him a warning gaze that told him to be quiet. “45 meters,” Michael motioned to the southwest where the hill sat. His grip tightened around his sword, and his entire body was noticeably tense; eyes narrowed to peer into the blinding darkness in every direction.

Gavin jumped slightly when a brand new noise flowed over the air of the flatland, a repeated clacking resembling the shaking of a skeleton archer but far more uniform and persistent. It continued for only a few moments at which point Geoff noticed the cow in the opposite direction stop moving all together, and only now, upon further observation, did he note the bipedal stance, and the familiar silhouette of a sword; that wasn’t a cow at all, Geoff sighed, and reminded himself to get his eyes checked. 

The cow-… _person_ , seemed to find their legs, turned and began running west at a noticeably sluggish pace. There was an uneasiness Geoff felt welling into the pit of his stomach, if there were two other survivors, working _together_ , he, Michael, and Gavin may be in trouble. The runner would probably be running to rendezvous with their partner, or possibly partner **s** , and now that their position was compromised, they would likely launch an attack; Geoff never knew a group of survivors to not do just that, even he and Michael had done it before. 

Paranoid, and maybe even the slightest bit scared, Geoff stood himself up and took aim at the runner, pinching the feathers of the arrow tightly between his middle and index fingers and breathing in through his nose. He let the arrow fly, followed by another and another; none of them seemed to hit their intended target, but came pretty damn close.

As he moved to knock another arrow, he felt Michael grab the side of his head and shove him to the right just as an unexpected arrow flew past Geoff’s ear with less than an inch of a gap. Another came and plunked itself into the ground by their feet, then another in the side of their tent, which thoroughly startled Gavin. Michael growled low in his throat and stood up straight, his eyes were blazing a dangerous orange hue over the void-like brown irises all hid behind his blue goggles. The next arrow came centered at Michael’s chest, and although Geoff refrained from calling out he still heard a panicked voice shout _Michael!_ just before the Hunter turned to the side and caught the arrow out of the air.

Geoff grinned, and noted Gavin’s recoil of pure shock.

Due southwest the mysterious assailant also ran from their cover, their appearance shadowed by the waxing pre-dawn light; their striders were long and carried them much faster than the other had, and Geoff did not even give his bow and arrow a thought and tossed them down. Gavin, however, sprung to life and brought the knocked arrow’s end to his cheek. _There’s no way he can still shoot,_ Geoff thought offhandedly as he awaited the fantastic failure, _He’s only got his one eye now._

The arrow left the bow and flew past Michael and over the swaying grass, slicing through the air with an immense velocity, indicative of the well-kept state of the Archer’s bow; even as the fleeting assailant ran, the arrow struck them in, what appeared to be, the shoulder and caused them to falter but inevitably not slow. Michael growled, “Nice fucking shot dumbass.” And he sprinted forward after them, but not without murmuring something about how _”No one shoots at Mogar”_

Left in the dust as Geoff followed after Michael, Gavin scoffed, “I wasn’t trying to _kill ‘im_ you donut!” And began to run after his companions 

Cold pre-dawn air beat against Michael’s face, slipped under his goggles and stung his eyes, causing them to water and obscure his vision, though he did not let that stop him for a moment; his feet hit the ground hard, the strength of his trained leg muscles shooting him over the field and into the woods after his assailant. Sweat sat on his forehead and made his curly bangs stick to his skin, his hood had since flown back and rested on top of his backpack, which he was beginning to note was rather heavy. He did not let his mind linger on the reality for too long, and instead narrowed his eyes on his fleeting target, who crisscrossed through the trees and was beginning to prove quite agile. 

Michael vaguely noted the branches that caught on his face and parts of his exposed arms, odds are leaving tiny cuts, they stung, but not as much as the air as it ran across his skin, feeling as cold as Winter even in the middle of Autumn. “Hey Gavin-“ Michael yelled back to his closely trailing companion, “How about you be useful for once and shoot at ‘em?!” He vaults over a fallen log, as does Geoff, and Gavin does his best to do so as well, but ends up climbing up and over the top of it. 

“Well I would, but I can’t shoot very well when I’m fucking **running!** ” The Archer screamed back over the whistling winds and audaciously snapping foliage. Michael grunted under his breath and mumbled something that was obscured by his quick breathing. 

Geoff sighed, suddenly wishing he didn’t have his armor on, it might be keeping him safe, but _oh my god_ was it hard to run in; though he refrained from stripping it off as he ran, and forced his rapidly weakening legs to carry him harder, and faster. To remain focused he kept his eyes trained on the blue backpack sprinting a couple meters ahead of him, the two swords clunking against each other and giving Geoff something to distract himself with, that _wasn’t_ how goddamn heavy his armor was. 

He stopped, suddenly, just quick enough to avoid running into Michael’s back, who also stopped, and Gavin, who ran into Geoff, looked at the two confusedly; he opened his mouth to wonder why they stopped, only to get a hand slapped over it, and Geoff _shushed_ him and coaxed him into a crouching position. Michael was standing upright, unmoving, his eyes trained out into the woods with a hawk-like focus. 

Contrasting greatly with the Hunter’s brightly colored shorts and backpack, the surrounding biome was dark and vacant, especially with the early morning light barley showing through the thick canopy, however the unmoving Survivor remained as still as a tree. 

Careful not to step on the fallen leaves, Geoff eases himself up next to Michael and stares out as well, motioning for his companion to look in the opposite direction. There is nothing for a solid minute before Geoff sees a shadow move off to his right and begins sprinting again, this time with Michael behind him and Gavin after that. 

Unlike before, the runner is much slower and seems to stutter their sprint every so often to free themself from being snagged by branches; _A different person, the one I was trying to shoot at,_ Geoff realized as he ran after the other person.

Soon enough the trees cleared, and Geoff watched the runner dash behind a rock face and through the narrow rock paths, and he though cockily that they were going to catch this mysterious assailant. However as they tried to wind their way through the walkways, it seemed as though there was going to be no dead end, and Geoff could not keep the runner in his sights for more than a millisecond before they disappeared around the next bend.

“There’s going to be an impassable rock face in about two corners, Gavin get your bow and arrow ready.” Michael ordered back to the Archer, who nodded curtly and pulled an arrow from his quiver. 

Geoff made a weird face, “How the hell would you know?”

The Hunter sighed audibly and boosted his running speed to catch up with Geoff and pointed to a raised peak poking up from behind smaller cliffs and boulders, “It’s in our path, there’s no way they can get over that; they’ve trapped themself.” Michael pointed out with a maddening smirk. 

It turned out he was more than right when they turned that second corner and came to an opening where, at the end, stood an immense rock face that was almost completely flat; seemingly impossible to climb. The runner, who Geoff now noted easily, was wear a well-worn, and torn black cape, which explained why he couldn’t run through the thick woods without getting caught on something. He was still sprinting forward at, what was presumably his full speed, and did not stop even as he came within a meter of the cliff, but the three others were startled to see the runner spring up and hook his hands and feet into small cracks in the rocks and begin to heave himself up at an alarming efficiency.

“Gavin _now_!” Geoff yelled, stopping and turning back to glare at the green-clad man.

Gavin stopped abruptly and leveled the bow and arrow and fired before 5 seconds passed, the arrow flew up and through the runner’s hand as he reached for another crevice to gain leverage in; he yelled out in pain and lost his grip on the cliff, skidding down until he was standing on the ground again. He yanked the arrow from his hand and turned to climb again as Gavin shot another, more fatal arrow that flew through the air and pinned the runner to the cliff face as the arrow shot through an off-centered part of his neck. 

“ **No!** ”

Before Gavin could determine what was going on, someone grabbed his bow, jammed the wooden handle into his forehead and knocked him to the ground. Michael pulled his sword to aggress but was not fast enough as the other runner used the bow string and twisted it around the hilt of Michael’s sword and pull it from his grasp and then shifting his weight to kick the Hunter in the chin and throw him back against the rocks. Geoff threw a right hook as the assailant, but had his fist grabbed, and a knee jammed into his gut and then a punch to the face, which effectively K.O’d him. 

It was about a minute or so before Geoff regained full consciousness, his vision spinning as soon as he opened his eyes, the left half of his face aching and throbbing painfully along with his abdominal muscles, it was a chore for him to force himself to a sitting position. Once his vision aligned, he looked over at Michael, who was still knocked- out, and Gavin, who seemed to be looking around in a daze. There was a new sound, someone talking, Geoff assumed; he forced his aching torso to turn and look back at the rock face where the two runners, now not running, were standing and obviously trying to get the cape-wearing person un-pinned from the cliff. 

Now with everything at a standstill, Geoff finally _saw_ the two they were so ready to hunt down; the one shot in the neck seemed about as young as Gavin, black hair and stubble, a thin white mask over his eyes, cheeks, and crooked nose, and a worn black suit with a cape and a rose stuck into his jacket pocket. The other, whose of a larger build with bright orange hair and a full beard, he wore a grey scarf, green shirt, and strikingly red pants tucked into black boots. The latter was trying to help his companion with the arrow protruding from the lower left portion of his neck, dabbing at the wound with the end of his scarf. 

“ _Geez_ ,” Geoff mumbled, raising a hand to gingerly rub at his sore jaw, “Dude really packs a punch.” He admitted and stood up to lend a hand to Gavin, but froze when he felt eyes on him, something he hates being so familiar with. The look on the Archer’s face before him was scared, and his eyes were trained on something behind the older survivor. Geoff sighed, “Can you do me a favor, and not shoot me?” He wondered half-expecting to feel an arrow pierce his skull any second. 

In the quiet of the morning he heard the faint creaking of the wooden bow as the arrow is drawn just a bit more taught than it already was, a momentary silence ensued. “Why shouldn’t I? You shot Ray.”

Geoff smirked, “To be fair, _he_ shot him.” He nodded towards Gavin.

“You gave the command, you’re the boss; I’m not deaf, and I’m not stupid.” The survivor pointed out, taking a step closer. Geoff smirked and spun himself around, ducking below, out of range of the arrow, he balanced himself with one hand on the ground and swung his leg around to sweep the assailant off his feet, but he jumped back to Geoff’s surprise; in place of a lackluster low-sweep attempt, Geoff shot up and threw a few wiled punches, none of which hit their mark, before he reared back and kicked, confident in the fact he was going to land a solid blow. 

But he was stopped, not by the ginger- both of his hands were on the bow and arrow- Geoff looked down past his hiked leg and sighed, he was met with a smirk and stark white mask before he was flipped, both his feet clear off the ground for a couple seconds before his back hit the rocky terrain _hard_. 

“Geoff!” Gavin called, and scooted himself to the older man’s side, but he was waved off.

“Hey,” Geoff muscled out, ignoring his aching jaw, his voiced strained in the slightest, “S’horry,” He coughed and shook his head, “Sorry, guys.” Both of the strangers looked at him skeptically before the one with the puncture wound in his throat sighed and asked his companion a question, Geoff couldn’t quite hear. 

Gavin looked at him strangely, “Why are you apologizing?” He asked in a hushed voice.

“Because, I thought they were hunting us, but obviously I was wrong.” He explained and got into a crouched position. It was mildly concerning to hear his spine crack the way it did, he strained against the stiffness of his armor and kneaded the muscles in his shoulders.

The green-clad man who had not moved from his side still wore a confused expression, “How do you know?” He wondered aloud.

“Because if we _were_ ,” The ginger stranger began, holding out a hand to Geoff and the other to Gavin, “You’d all be dead.” Geoff took his hand and heaved himself up, but Gavin required a reassuring glance from the Boss to partake in the same action. 

The stranger looked Geoff and Gavin up-and-down, “Who are you?” Bluntly asked, but Geoff wasn’t a fan of idle chat.

“Geoffrey L. Ramsey, call me Geoff.” He held out his hand to shake, but the survivor did not make a move to partake in the gesture so he let his arm flop down to his side, “This is Gavin D. Free, and _that_ ,” He motioned to their unconscious companion leaning against the rock face, “Is Michael V. Jones. All Survivors.” The stranger, seemingly fine with that answer, fixed the glasses at the end of his nose. He turned and began to attend to his injured companion again, pressing gently on his neck near the injury, which seemed to help the shorter man breathe past the puncture wound. Sickly warm blood coated the ginger’s fingers and parts of his arm, and certainly dampened the shorter man’s shirt and jacket, though neither of them seemed phased too greatly, in fact, they seemed painfully calm in the face of a possibly grave injury. 

Gavin looked skeptically at Geoff, though the older survivor figured that Michael would be the real problem to deal with when he woke up; he wasn’t fond of leaving survivors after a scuttle. “Y’know, most of the time; introductions go both ways.” He began cockily, motioning between the strangers and himself.

Although looking exhausted and so _completely_ done with everything, the orange-haired survivor stood up and crossed his arms, “I’m Jack, and that’s Ray.” 

Geoff smirked confidently, “Do you have last names or are you the exclusively-first-name-wonder twins?”

Jack sighed, “Patillo,” He pointed a thumb at himself, and then back at Ray, “Narvaez. I’m…” The hesitation was dually noted by Geoff, “We’re Survivors.”

Geoff asked, “Are you?” 

“Yes.”  
“ _No._ ”

Jack’s head flew back towards Ray, his eyes wide and scared, “ _Ray!_ ” He hissed his name but Ray held up a hand.

“Hey there,” The masked man began, straining against his aching limbs to push himself away from the rocks he was leaning against; he held out a hand and offered a weak, albeit, friendly smile towards Geoff, who took it carefully. “I’m Ray, sorry about scaring you before, and about him.” He nodded towards Jack, “Trust me he’s the most magnanimous, nice guy ever, he’s just running on adrenaline, just like the rest of us.” He let go of Geoff’s hand turned back to Jack, who smiled meekly and nodded.

“You guys wanna have breakfast with us?” He asked after a deep breath.

Gavin jumped at the opportunity, “Yes, god yes! These pillocks have barely given me time to eat since they found me; that was like a million years ago!” He said and eagerly began toddling after Ray.

Geoff walked over to Michael’s still unmoving form and tried to shake him awake to no avail; he noticed Jack kneel next to him, “He means a week, like, literally a week; a _million years_ could not be more of an exaggeration.” He smirked when Jack chuckled quietly. 

With the bearded man’s help, Geoff heaved an unconscious Michael up and began to laboriously, and _painfully_ slowly walk after Gavin and Ray. The two walking ahead of them began chatting lightheartedly, but it was going on 5 minutes before either of the older survivors worked past the estranged set of circumstances to speak. “So, you and the kid, huh?” Geoff began in a teasing manner.

Jack glanced at him briefly, “Ray.” He reminded him.

Geoff nodded offhandedly, “Yes, yes. So, you and _Ray_ then, huh?” He shifted his hold on Michael’s arm so that he could elbow the ginger in the side, gracious when he wasn’t immediately punched by the over-paranoid man. “Got anything goin’ on there?” He meant it jokingly, but Jack’s face could not have flushed a brighter red whilst looking so annoyed ; his soft green eyes narrowed dangerously at Geoff.

“We’re friends, idiot. Don’t insinuate something like that unless you’re sure.” Jack said defensively, but in confidence, shifting his gaze to stare straight forward again. 

“Alright, _sheesh_.” Geoff _hmphed_ loudly as his shoulders slumped, suddenly wishing he had Gavin’s strange skill for making people simultaneously hate him but like him in the same breath, instead of managing to say _just_ the wrong thing. 

The morning Sun was visible in the lower part of the sky when Ray and Gavin finally stopped ahead of them in a clearing hidden behind the thick foliage; amongst the occasional patches of lackluster green grass and a strange amount of red roses sat an impressive wood shelter, built in such a way it was a borderline house. Torches were strategically placed around the outside of the house and illuminated a small, seemingly manmade pond with a few spaces of tilled land where small sprouts of wheat were beginning to grow. 

Geoff, Jack, and Michael (although the latter continued to be aggravatingly unconscious) followed in to the clearing moments later and Geoff looked around with an impressed gaze, “Jack built it in less than a day,” He heard Ray proclaim from nearby, and Gavin let out an audible sound of fascination. A brief glance was cast at Jack and the ginger, or _Architect_ as it may, kept his eyes glued to the ground, trying to keep a tiny proud grin from surfacing. 

“It’s nothing,” Jack mumbled, and before Geoff knew it, Ray was by his side mock-punching Jack’s arm,

“I told you to stop doing that.” Ray used his lack of height to swoop under and replace Jack’s hold on Michael with his own, “Now you should start breakfast, I’ll get Michael here back to the world of the living.” He smiled began ushering Geoff (and a still unconscious Michael) towards the house.

Gavin, for his part, apparently only found it necessary to hear a select portion of what Ray said, “ _Land of the living?_ Are you saying he’s dead? Bloody hell I thought he was just unconscious!” His voice was getting panicky and Geoff very suddenly wished he had free range to go over and smack the younger survivor.

“Calm down,” Ray snapped, incidentally jostling the survivor completely dependent on his hold- Michael released a breathy groan at the sudden motion. Ray took a deep breath and glares down the Archer, “He’s not dead, he _is_ out cold though and, depending on how hard Jack kicked him, he may have a minor concussion.” He did his best to smile comfortingly when Gavin grimaced concernedly. “Jack’s got talents in things that aren’t just building; he’s a brewer, we should be able to help him.” Ray turned his head to Jack and nodded towards their house, an action which followed Jack nodding curtly and striding through the, now open, wooden door.

They heaved Michael inside but not without a fair bit of coaxing through the door and past the narrow crafting stations, where Jack was already standing with a furnace running and brewing stand bubbling, steam or smoke floating off of either contraption. Geoff, with all of his instincts yelling at him to not trust these two, went along with ease, looking around the narrow walkway and trying to avoid running into the flimsy timber walls. 

There was not much decoration, aside from the craftsmanship being an art form in and of itself, but there were quite a few potted roses, Geoff could only guess why. It felt drafty in the hallway, but not as cool as the Autumn air outside, and the moment he and Ray stepped through the threshold into another room, the air became warm and enveloping, it was like heaven to Geoff’s fatigued limbs as soon as he felt it through his clothes and against his chilled skin. 

Gently, they laid Michael on the single bed in the room, Geoff taking care to pull off his goggles and backpack for him, setting them on the bedside table; and he couldn’t help but think that this was much more than Michael had done for him when _he_ was unconscious. But the nagging possibility to draw a dick on the Hunter’s face was cast aside after a minute of contemplative thought; _He’d probably kick my fucking ass sooo…_ However, Geoff grinned at the thought. 

When Geoff finally looked around the room, Ray was rummaging around a chest, pulling out odds and ends, mumbling incoherencies to himself; his cape was twisted around one of his feet, and Geoff foresaw the younger survivor falling right onto his face in the following minutes. 

Geoff found the source of the warmth in the room with a contained fire burning behind a set of iron grates, surrounded by dark red brick that he had never seen before; there were no other lights in the room except for the flickering firelight, and on the walls, unlike in the hallway, there were frames with charcoal-drawn pictures of trees and animals, one of Jack, and one of Ray, and otherwise there were a few tools leaned against the wall, and a skull sitting on the bedside table (Geoff wished he could feel more disturbed by it than he did).

Oddly enough there were more roses in this room than there were in the rest of the house, Geoff switched to breathing through his mouth just so he wouldn’t smell the overbearing aroma. 

“Hey Ramsey, do me a favor and- **oof**!” Geoff turned and laughed loudly, seeing the younger man flat on his face, his cape still settling in a bunched up mess on his back. Ray pushed himself up and glared Geoff down, but shrugged it off, gathering the water bottle and cloth that tumbled to the floor along with him. “Alright then,” Ray straightened his suit jacket and flipped his cape around (unnecessarily, Geoff noted; he figured Ray had a bad habit of doing that, possibly under the impression that he looked passably cool), “ I’m just gonna warm the water up and put a compress on the swelling, if you could just, wait a second and make sure he doesn’t hit his head on anything-“ Ray explained as he walked out of the room, leaving the dry cloth with Geoff and taking the water. 

Alone with Michael again, Geoff sighed and sat down at the end of the bed, running his fingers through his tangled, oily hair, repulsed at the feel of sweat and blood that lay caked to his scalp. He took a deep breath, ignoring the rosy smell of the room, and breathed out slowly, his eyes drifted closed and he remarked the past hour’s events with gratitude; happy he’s still alive, and that maybe, just maybe, they’ve found another two people to tag along with them.

Geoff would never tell Michael, _has never_ told Michael, but the two of them together for so long has left Geoff with an unfulfilled hollowness to his chest; and maybe it’s because of twisted morals that were only made worse by the passing of time and the perversion of an already confused set of mannerisms and beliefs, but Geoff wished he understood better how people worked, why they weren’t all so ready to murder like he and Michael were, he wished they could have _friends_. 

_Eh, that’s stupid,_ He sighed again and rested his elbows on his knees, chuckling at his own thoughts, telling himself how childish it sounded. 

He looked at Michael, _Although…for your mind’s sake…maybe companions would be more heavily advised. Maybe we should keep Gav around._ He thought, his subconscious added in a little _’or invite Jack and Ray along.’_ but he ignored it for the moment when Michael stirred in the bed. 

At first his eyes drifted open just a crack, then clenched shut along which came a restrained groan, and Michael’s hand came up to deftly rub his face; he winced quietly when the pads of his hand came down to his swollen chin. “Take it easy bud’.” Geoff said in a soothing tone. 

“You okay?” Michael asked breathily, eyes not open yet, but limbs starting to move groggily. “What about the idiot?” 

Geoff grinned, “Yeah me and Gav are fine, few bruises is all. Are _you_ okay?” He received a lazy nod in response. Finally he opened his eyes, pupils reacting harshly to the comparatively low firelight. Another groan when he moved his popped shoulder. “Easy man, don’t need you getting more fucked up.” He pointed out honestly. 

Just about then Ray walked through the door, rubbing at a fresh bandage that sat around his neck, one already blotting with blood from the open wound underneath (which would explain why it took him so long to return; Jack is probably playing nurse out there with Gavin and decided to treat his partner’s injuries) . His jacket was gone but his blood-spattered button-up was still there, he had the water bottle with him on a small plank of wood along with two pieces of bread.

Michael sat bolt-up in the bed and glared down the other survivor, “ _You?!_ ” He growled, obviously forgetting his head injury in favor of launching himself to his feet and charging at Ray. His reflexes were slowed and languid, painfully obvious to Geoff as he passed, but still not slow enough to get a good grip on him before he got within swinging distance of Ray. 

After a moment, Geoff is not entirely sure if he’s relieved that Ray had the time to drop the tray and clock Michael in the head hard enough to knock him out again, or if he’s just worried that any possible concussion the Hunter had just got worse. “Oh dear,” Ray groaned, hurriedly dragging Michael back into the bed. He dampened the cloth with the hot water and pressed it against his swollen chin and jawline; using a leather strip to wrap around Michael’s head, he tied the compress and reached for another piece of fabric which he wetted and placed carefully on the new forming bruise on the Hunter’s cheek. 

Part of Geoff wanted to apologize and then thank Ray, but he didn’t. He sighed again and stood up, snatching a piece of the bread that still sat askew on the tray, he bit into it and savored the fluffy warmth that seemed to be flavored with some kind of jam. “Everything alright in here?” Came Jack’s voice from the doorway.

Mouth still stuffed with bread, Geoff replied, “He punched Michael.” He said pointing at Ray.

“ _Ray_!” Jack sighed.

“Hey, _he_ came at me, what the hell was I supposed to do?” Ray wondered aloud, voice cracking into a higher pitch. 

It was obvious Jack was trying to restrain something, probably a chuckle, as he moved into the room and pointed out the door, “Go eat, both of you, foods on the table with Gavin.” Hearing the sentence ushered Geoff into action as he hurried out of the room; Gavin was about as ravenous as a starved hyena and the food was probably in danger of being devoured if he didn’t act quickly.

As he fleeted back down the hall he noted Ray hesitating in the doorway and turned an attentive ear towards them and their short conversation. “You eaten?” Ray asked quietly.

“Not yet.”

“You need to.”

“I’ll take care of Michael first, fix his shoulder; you noticed it was popped out of socket?”

A pause, and Geoff assumed Ray nodded.

“Right, I’ll be out in a bit.”

Their voices were much different when addressing one-another; Ray’s was not as exuberant, Jack’s was not as overbearing, their closeness was painfully obvious and Geoff began to wonder how long they’d been a team. Longer than he and Michael maybe? The smell of warm food was enough for him to push the thought into a crevice and fill the void with breakfast style steaks, toast, and juice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 12:10 am on Friday the 14th that means it's Friday, and that means it's time for an update. Enjoy ^-^  
>  _Number 1, Happy Valentines Day, and number 2, happy Friday of Katsucon; me and my friends are shoving off to our hotel in a few hours (reason for early morning update), so if you're going, have a great con, if you're not, sorry for blathering about a con you're not attending. Have a good weekend readers. 8)_  
>  -Casey

Jack woke up without a sound in the early morning hours the following day, his back hurt from sleeping hunched over at the table after he fell asleep cleaning his axe, his eyes were dusted with haze and crusted lightly in the aftermath of not-so-sound slumber. The room was still dark, and barely any light was streaming in through the windows, so he reached semi-blindly for a torch, which he found and lit with ease; he set it up on the wall and stretched his shoulders in the process, chuckling exasperatedly at the strained crack elicited from his shoulder. 

He did his very best to not make too much noise as he practically tip-toed back to the room, one he built originally for storing excess materials now being used as a guest room for their two not-concussed guests, supped up with two rickety beds and a caldron basin. Inside by the gentle redstone torchlight; Geoff was skewed into a tangle of limbs and blankets and was snoring just loud enough for it to be funny, and Gavin seemed thoroughly passed out lying on his front with his face sandwiched between two pillows. 

Cautiously Jack shut the door and quietly meandered back down the hallway, sparring a glance into Ray’s room, currently being used as the infirmary for their resident hunter, where Michael was curled into an almost painfully defensive ball, a diamond sword clutched in one of his hands; Jack assumed he had woken sometime in the middle of the night and felt it necessary to have his sword, but Jack was just thankful he hadn’t woken up and slit his and Ray’s throats out of spite. 

Another sparring gaze into his room, which he loaned to Ray for the night, proved the younger man was already awake, strange, but not unheard of in the past. In an attempt to locate his partner, Jack returned to their crafting stations and to the front door, which he opened and was met with a gentle breeze of chilly autumn air; he offhandedly wished he knew where his scarf was just so the draft wouldn’t catch the annoying sensitive scar-tissue around his collarbone. 

Once outside, aside from the swaying grass and occasional chirping of birds, there weren’t many mobs or many other sounds, which he was grateful for, that meant he would have few worries when he went for water as soon as the Sun was above the tree line; he hoped, anyway. The air was crisp aside from being cold, the high amounts of oxygen offered a clearing feeling to his aching head, but in enjoying the moment he reminded himself to run breathing-exercises with their three guests whenever they woke up; reasons being that Geoff and Gavin seemed strangely out of breathe the previous day after the hike to his and Ray’s house, and the thick air was probably the majority contributing factor.

“Up here Jack.” Ray called quietly as he leaned just over the edge of the roof so Jack could see him and begin climbing the ladder to the roof. 

The splintering wood of the ladder was rough against his hands, but Jack only had himself to blame since he has been so adamant about not wasting the wood on something they barely ever used; joke’s on him, so it seemed. 

Once he peaked his head over the edge he saw Ray sitting on the raised peak of the roof, his legs drawn up and arms curled around them, his cape was splayed out behind him like a stressed black river lying over the oak wood tiling, the frayed ends reaching just far enough to play along the straight edge of the roof. Jack noticed the younger man’s mask set neatly on top of his sloppily folded suit jacket alongside a wilting rose that was noticeably browning along the paling red petals; he took a moment to step off the ladder and make a grab at something in the nearest storage chest before scurrying back up.

He sat down silently to Ray’s right, resting his arms on his knees and looking out above the tree line, the Sun’s light was beginning to pigment the midnight colored stratosphere, and even after a few minutes of silence, Ray said nothing. “Something bugging you?” Jack wondered quietly, his voice soft enough to not disturb the easily corruptible peace. 

He only received a shrug in response, so Jack didn’t continue right away.

“Can we trust ‘em Jack?” Ray mumbled after a few more minutes of silently watching the sky, his paranoia-plagued mind having not ceased bothering him since the moment he saw Jack’s shoulder bleeding from a puncture wound he was subject to by the very same people who Ray had only hours before trusted with his home, food, and supplies. Ray kicked himself over and over for not heeding his partner’s initial worries; it was ignorant and, frankly, quite _stupid_ for him to be so blindly trusting right after one of them shot him in the throat and actively tried to murder them both.

There was a heavy, long sigh that followed another bout of silence, and Jack ran a callous-padded hand through his hair, still grimy and matted from yesterday’s physical exertion. “I don’t know.” He wished he could act supportive and confident in a more uplifting response, if only he had one. He was so terribly unsure of what to do, and why they brought three strangers to their home, trusting them with his and Ray’s lives when they slept; it was all far beyond Jack’s comprehension, he was not even sure if he was the one who instigated it all. 

“The Archer is pretty funny,” Ray admitted lightheartedly, trailing his hand back to clasp at the edge of his cape. “In a stupid way, but still.” Jack chuckled. 

Another few moments of silence followed, “I agree,” Jack nodded. “Wish I could say anything good about the other two, but one of them is an assuming smartass and the other one very nearly killed you twice.” He laughed, but Ray heard the worrisome tone with which he spoke.

“Gav did shoot you in the shoulder, and I think Ramsey gave you that nasty bruise.” The younger man said; his own voice decorated with concern. 

Jack shrugged and cast his gaze back over the tree line just as the upper curve of the Sun shone through the thick canopy of leafy green oak trees, the occasional bird swooped through his field of vision to another branch, or another bird, or just off into the pink horizon with a call for the new day and no sure destination. 

Ray swung his leg back-and-forth nervously, heel bumping up against the wooden frame of the house; he thought for a long few minutes about their situation, more than once he considered running inside, grabbing what he could and getting himself and Jack out of there. It seemed like a good idea, and he would no longer have to worry about these strangers causing them any harm, let alone devouring their limited stock of food. He smirked remembering how much that Gavin fellow ate in such a short period of time. 

He gambled a quick, sidelong look at Jack; the naturally flushed hue to his nose and cheeks coupled with a wonderfully full, curly beard elicited a fond smile from Ray, although he tried to hide it; mostly because he wouldn’t be able to explain why he was grinning like a doofus in the first place. “Hey,” Jack caught his attention, and with a kind smile reached over and placed an affirming hand on Ray’s shoulder, “Don’t worry about it, alright. I’ll back up whatever call you make.” Ray let a smile creep to his face, remembering he has the best goddamn partner he could have ever asked for.

“Yeah,” Ray began, shifting just a bit and bringing his cape around to pool in his lap, “I think it’s worth it to stick with them, that assuming the Mogar fellow doesn’t try and kill us again, which may or may not be a real possibility. But…” He stopped and thought about his words, some part of him not wanting to let his lack of security slip past a nonchalant façade that he has been oh-so successful at keeping in place. Regardless of the fact that Jack has seen him at his worst and his best, Ray found himself still worrying that saying the wrong thing would lessen the image his partner has of him, that if Ray were to seem as clueless and useless as he felt, then Jack would disregard him. He reached for the thin white mask and slipped it comfortably over his eyes, like a blanket to hide his insecurities, or like a metaphorical mask of self-loathing and contempt, rather than just a literal mask.

“But you’re tired of being alone.” The words were spoken just as Ray decided he was going to disregard the sentence he began, and he focused his eyes through the openings in his mask to look at Jack. “You’re tired of being instantly ridiculed, and these guys don’t seem to give a shit, and you actually feel worth something to someone other than me.” Jack stated, and Ray wished he could object; goddamn it sounded selfish, and coupled with Jack’s little, apologetic smile- it was made even worse.

The masked man heaved a hefty sigh and nodded guiltily, he had a whole slew of pathetic apologies lined up and waiting to be said, but Jack leaned over to give him an enveloping side-hug (as enveloping as one of those can be, anyway). Ray reflexively reached an arm up to return the gesture, dipping under his partner’s arm and resting his hand on the small of Jack’s back; Ray smirked because Jack never failed when it came to hugs, always kind and comforting and perfectly timed. “Its okay, bud’, it’s understandable. I assume it’s pretty lame being stuck with me all the time; bugging you and shit.” Jack chuckled.

But Ray did not. Ray pulled his torso back to make full, un-obscured eye contact, even going so far as to reach a hand up and move the unruly ginger bangs away; he stared for a few moments which was long enough to watch the other’s pupils dilate under the growing light of the morning. “You literally, have never bugged me, and hanging out with you is the farthest thing from lame.” He suddenly felt very embarrassed and flustered and jerked his head away, “Sorry fer’…uh…sorry.” He very literally face-palmed and felt the embarrassed heat on his skin. 

Although only a second later he heard Jack’s familiar chuckle; one that was not- and never was- condescending or judgmental; but rather calming and reassuring. “That’s cool of you to say Ray, thank you.” 

“We could just ditch ‘em y’know.” Ray offered a few minutes later, “Cut our losses and leave the three of them here.” He pointed out, staring intently at the still, inky forest line that faded back into the trees until he could not see. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on-end just looking into the darkness; the forest made him uneasy even at the best of times and on the sunniest days when the light shone through the thick canopy and frightened any and all creatures that may have been lurking. It was something of a blessing when Jack agreed to let him go hunting the previous day, and he had been so ecstatic to finally be rid of the forest that he sprinted to where he knew the great plains began (though sprinting may not be the appropriate word, he was a rather terrible runner). “I can’t trust ‘em yet.” Ray mumbled under his breath. 

“Yeah that’s true, but we can give them more of a chance; they’ve practically slept for an entire day after all.” Jack pointed out as he edged himself forward and, after Ray failed to stop him, slid off the edge of the somewhat shabbily tiled roof and landed on his feet on the ground below. 

Ray had to calm himself before he shouted, “ _Don’t_ so that! Give me a heart attack why don’tcha!” Though he smiled when the ginger let out an audible laugh and stumbled through a half-hearted apology. 

“I’ll go get water for today alright; Sun’s up, already off to a late start, need anything?” Jack wondered helpfully as he reached into one of their spare chests that sat outside and heaved out a few buckets that were stacked within one-another. Then he made a weird face and tugged his grey scarf out as well, mumbling in question as to how it got there, before he shrugged it off and wrapped it loosely around his neck. 

“Nah, just get plenty of water, we really need to head off today.” Ray explained. He moved his hand to his folded jacket and was a bit surprised to feel the stiff, healthy petals under his fingers; he raised the new rose- one he knew wasn’t there before- and smiled, nodding his head in thanks towards his partner.

Jack smiled and waved a hand as he headed into the trees, down a path by which he passed a few treeless stumps that he was to blame for, having logged the near area for materials days ago; the already weak-stalked grass was beginning to flatten into a noticeable walkway from where he had been walking the same route for a few days. There was just enough light that he did not worry himself about any monsters, but kept an ever attentive pair of eyes and ears open for any sort of obtrusive sounds, anything that may be indicative of something dangerous. 

Reaching the river was a welcome relief when he was able to look up to see the pink and gold sky with thin stratus clouds slicing through the upper atmosphere and fading into the still dark portion of the sky. The water ran gently over the rocks along the shore and swirled steadily into deeper pools in some areas where fish occasionally swam to the surface to snatch a bug before diving back down. 

It did not take much convincing for Jack to toss the buckets into the sand and kneel by the water; he scooped water into his hands and splashed it onto his head, he ran his fingers through his matted locks and repeated the process a couple more times. The water was noticeably getting more frigid by the day, the mountain flow foretelling of the approaching chill of early winter, and it was only this fact – the frigidness of the water – that kept him from diving in head first.  
But he was grateful that he had the chance to rid himself of the filth that grasped at his hair, face, and arms by washing them; in hind sight he should have urged Ray to follow him and do the same, or at least wash his clothes considering the younger man had blood stains to deal with now. 

After filling the buckets to the brim Jack took his leave, holding two bucket’s handles in each hand he took the path with the matted grass and the lonely stumps, pausing once or twice to check for sounds he thought he heard. There were no sounds, but Jack swore he could hear the forest speaking to him, nothing more than faint whispers that ducked and slalomed through the trees and past him; it was strange, and he suddenly felt very small and defenseless, especially without his sword. He was not a stranger to hearing things, it seemed voices followed him all his life, or at least through all of his memories; offhandedly he remarked that he might be going crazy. 

“ **Take it back or I swear I’ll cut your throat!** ” To say Jack wasn’t expecting to hear _that_ was an understatement. He began to run as fast as he could without spilling too much water, and in moments he was stood in the small, open meadow where the house was, and by said house; Ray had Geoff backed up against the wall at sword-point while Gavin had a bow trained on Ray. Of course Jack was worried, but at that point it was more exasperating than anything. 

Calmly, and quietly, Jack set the buckets down and began to walk over. “Y’know I don’t think I will; I meant what I said.” Geoff retorted smugly, as if there wasn’t an iron sword less than an inch from his throat. 

Ray bristled, “He beat you up with his bare hands, and kept you alive! How is that weak?” _Oh dear…_ Jack sighed, realizing the argument seemed to be regarding himself. 

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because he was too weak to kill us, because he’s pathetic in his mannerisms and relies on a runt like you for support.” Geoff sneered.

Jack could not move fast enough when Ray growled audibly, “You motherfucker!” He swung his arms down, sword still clutched in-between a pair of white-knuckled fists. Jack sprung at them and ushered his arm forward to block Geoff from the inevitable blow; the sword stuck into the thick leather arm guard, not eve n touching his skin, but Ray still gasped and immediately dropped his sword. “Oh my god Jack-“

“Its fine Ray,” The larger man assured, holding up his forearm where there was a visible, but harmless slice in the armor. “What’s this about?” He wondered aloud, keeping his voice steady but demanding. 

Ray was still bristling and Geoff was stood with his arms crossed with Gavin at his side, bow and arrow held loosely in his grip; Jack had to stare down his partner before the younger man let himself speak, “This ungrateful fucktard was talking smack while you were out; about you. Fucking pussy.” He seethed, and straightened his mask over his eyes. 

“ _Oi_ , no need for name-calling.” Gavin quipped.

“Shut-it.” Geoff ordered, elbowing Gavin in the arm. 

“You’re not even part of this, idiot.” Ray added with a momentary glare directed at the taller survivor. 

Geoff’s stare morphed protectively, “Don’t talk to him like that!”

“Well tell him not to point an arrow at my head when the argument is between me and you!” 

“I don’t fucking control him!” 

“I’m not a bloody dog!” 

“We do all this for you and this is how you fucking thank me?”

Geoff mock-paused, “Y’know, maybe I was referring to the wrong person earlier,” He began with a sneer, “Jack has actually done a shit-ton to help us; I think it’s you who’s the useless, pathetic weirdo.” He pointed an accusing finger at the shorter man. “I mean, have you done anything? I watched you watch Jack re-tile the roof last night, and cut down trees when there was a spare iron axe sitting on the bench next to you. Do you even help him at all or are you just a goddamn leech? Why don’t you help at all?” He finished, and even Gavin looked surprised by what he had said.

“Ramsey!” Jack shouted, but what was said could not be taken back. 

Ray didn’t talk at first, and his eyes shut and eyebrows twitched. His breathing was audible in the quiet of the morning, quick and noisy against the silence. 

It took all of the self-restraint Jack could muster to not K.O. the other survivor right there, it would be easy; he’d done it once before already. But he remained still, “It’s because he _can’t_ , Ramsey .” He said at Geoff, “And you have no right to talk to him that way,” He wished he didn’t have to scold Ray, but it would be unfair not to considering the masked man was part of the problem, “That goes for both of you.” He placed a gentle hand on Ray’s back and only advanced when he wasn’t shoved off immediately.

For another minute Ray didn’t talk, but Jack felt his body beginning to shake, with what he did not know; anger perhaps? Sadness? Whatever it was, it was becoming a real challenge not to tell Geoff off. “Hey,” He said quietly enough to be a whisper. “Hey bud’, it’s alright, it’s fine, arguments happen.” It took a moment but Ray angled his head up to look at him and Jack’s heart broke seeing his partner’s usually cheery brown eyes glassed over and reddened, “No no, don’t do that, it’s okay.” Jack assured.

“No, he’s right.” Ray’s voice was broken and strained, and he audibly cleared his throat before crossing his arms defensively. Jack was confused for a moment before Ray continued, “I don’t help; I’m useless.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” 

“But it is, Jack.” He shouted, drawing the ginger back just slightly at his raised voice. “I can barely maintain a farm, let alone help you build anything.” Jack felt like he lost 20 minutes of progress when Ray returned to staring at the ground intently. 

He turned to Geoff and Gavin, who seemed to be standing by and listening; he was careful so that when he talked he wouldn’t sound angry, “Both of you go back inside and have something to eat and calm down.” He was quite proud of himself as he listened to the soft, characteristic tone of his voice. 

Geoff didn’t give it a second thought and shoved by Gavin to the front door, and slammed it shut behind him. Gavin, however, did not follow as quickly; he sighed and stepped slowly in the same direction, but paused, and turned around to cautiously step up to Ray and Jack. In his hands he wrung his bow nervously, finding a familiar comfort in the patterns and tick-marks he felt beneath his palms. “Ray,” His voice was tiny compared to the vast woods around them and the shouting match that just took place. “I’m really sorry, especially about pointing the bow at you.” He admitted, his eyes darting from Ray to the ground, “I woulda’ never shot you…I’m sorry.” He mumbled and then scurried after Geoff. 

Once alone, Ray made an odd noise and choked out a curse, “I’m useless.”

Jack grabbed him by the shoulders again, “Listen to me,” He began, “No you’re not. I’m not going to let one stupid comment from one clueless survivor make you feel like shit. I don’t care about what he says.” His gaze remained on Ray until the younger man looked up, “Tell me: if it wasn’t for you, who would have protected me all those times I was building and couldn’t cover my own back?” His voice was becoming rushed, he just did not want to deal with any unnecessary self-judgments.

Ray gave a tiny shrug and slowly un-crossed his arms. “And pardon my trepidation, but I’d rather not be left alone in the wilderness without you by my side.” Jack admitted, and released Ray’s shoulders when the younger man chuckled.

“Alright, alright you’re hot for me, I get it, knock it off.” He laughed at his own joke, and Jack rolled his eyes. 

_._

It was the faint crackling of the fire that woke Michael, his eyes cracked open and were met with a warm orange glow that skittered along the wooden planks that made up the wall; without moving his head he stared down the creases and water damage over the splintered surface, he counted every knot in the wood until his eyes began to hurt from the over-exertion. He strained his aching limbs and throbbing head until he forced himself to sit upright in the bed, he then craned his neck just enough to stare out of the door and down the hallway. Even in the hazy blur of his vision Michael swore he could pick out the emerald green of Geoff’s armor and the bright green of Gavin’s outfit; he refrained from calling out only out of pride, but goddamn he would love it if someone could bring him some ale to dull his pain.

“Here have this,” Michael turned his head and saw a masked-man stood by him holding a glass bottle of water and a few green bundles in his other hand. If he had the energy Michael would have lashed out at him, but the lackluster performance of his limbs, not to mention his delayed muscle response, kept him in place. 

He stared the stranger down and then at the bundles in his palm; green leaves wrapped in, what looked like, blades of grass. “What is it?” Michael choked out the question and hesitantly took the bottle of water, not yet confident enough to take whatever it was the other was holding in his opposing hand. 

Through the mask Michael watched him roll his eyes, but he made sure to keep his expression kind, “Just take it.” Seeing the Hunter’s questioning look he sighed and continued, “It’s something me and Jack use whenever we get hurt and need painkillers. It’s a crushed compound of cocoa bean powder, bone meal, and glistening melon, wrapped in spring leaves. I’d give you a healing potion but Jack ran out of netherwart months ago; fresh out. But he should have a leftover potion of regeneration to help with your bruising and muscle ache.” He explained as Michael took the makeshift pill and ate it, chasing it down with a hearty drink of the water; he strained to remember who the hell this ‘Jack’ fellow was. 

The mix tasted bitter on his tongue, the cocoa merging in the worst of ways with the melon, but he assumed that was a good thing considering any and all medicines he’d ever had tasted awful. The suited man ushered his hand forward and, begrudgingly, Michael took and swallowed the other compound. It tasted worse the second time. “Who are you?” Michael wondered as he forced down the medicine. 

 

“I’m Ray, and my partner’s name is Jack.” Ray explained, “You’ve been out for practically two days. I guess the second day was my fau…” The masked man began, but digressed as soon as he caught a glimpse of the Hunter’s deathly gaze cast at him. “Never mind.” He mumbled and set to work pulling things from the nearest chest; bandages and water, and jars of more of that green stuff. Finally he seemed to find what he was looking for when he pulled out a piece of leather and handed it to Michael. 

Michael looked at it questionably, it was cold to the touch and he reached for the triple-clasped lock keeping it held together, “What the hell is this-“

“No no no, don’t open it!” Ray nearly yelled, and successfully froze the other’s motions. “It’s dry ice. If you open it not only will you burn yourself, it’ll melt; can’t replace it.” He explained. 

Michael made a face, “Dry ice? How the fuck did you manage to freeze carbon dioxide out in the wilderness.” 

“An old friend of Jack’s that we ran into a few weeks ago; goddamn genius in his own right. Think his name was Burns…yeah, Burnie.” Ray didn’t sound completely sure but Michael could have cared less about whoever the fuck he was talking about, he was just happy his mood was starting to improve as the remedy kicked in and began to numb the pain in his head, gut, and limbs. 

There were footsteps in the hall and then there was someone else Michael didn’t recognize, presumably the Jack guy Ray had been speaking of, was stood in the doorway holding an axe over his shoulder, he looked worn out; sweaty and dirty, especially along his dirt-crusted gloves and arms. With his vision already sharper and more acute than the standard survivor, Michael saw each tiny cut that lay on exposed skin, and the way the ginger’s right shoulder sagged just a bit lower than his left, indicative of a physical strain. “Hey, you’re up.”

Michael gave a curt nod, keeping down a wince at the paroxysm of pain that ran like a shockwave over his skull at the action, “My body would beg to differ; can’t feel anything.” He groaned and ushered his legs off the side of the bed, he felt woozy, and his head was spinning and vision blurry; he nearly fell over until he felt a hand on his back and shoulder easing his destabilized manner. 

“Careful.” Jack insisted, and thankfully didn’t move until Michael shrugged him off. “You have a minor concussion and some pretty bad pre-existing muscle strain; you need to take it easy with yourself before you seriously damage your body.” Jack explained, handing over a glass filled about halfway with something pink-purple and shimmering in the firelight; it did not look particularly appetizing, however it looked considerably more edible then the green crap Ray had just fed him.

The Hunter, for all it was worth in his dizzied state, glared at Jack, “Piss off, _mom_.” He growled with venom in his voice. He jerked his head back when Ray touched his chin; the touch brought around a painful sting that momentarily froze his jaw. “Holy fuck!” He nearly threw a punch at the shorter man, and the only thing that stopped him was the fact that his arm gave out before he could build the force behind his fist. Ray recoiled and mumbled an apology. 

With a heavy sigh Michael forced his weary legs to support him while he ignored the concerned ushering of the other two people present, the balls of his feet pressed to the floor and it felt like a thousand needles were sticking him simultaneously, his calves screamed, and his knees very-nearly gave out under his weight. It was pure agony. But Michael persisted, and shoved past Jack and Ray towards the hallway, he stumbled and fell against the doorway for a fleeting moment, but did his best to disguise it as him merely brushing against the frame as he passed. 

The medicine was helping, he assumed, but he’d be damned if it wasn’t like walking through hell the way his bones were straining under his heavy muscles, he could barely focus his eyes for a few seconds let alone walk down the goddamn hallway without looking like a straight-up drunk (or like Geoff on a bad day, he inwardly chuckled).

“Michael!” Gavin shouted when the Hunter stumbled into the room, leaning heavily on the table for support. With worry in his face, Gavin stood up and rounded the table to face Michael while still keeping a safe distance. 

His exclamation of relief and worry was met with a quick, steely glare before Michael decided his legs had had enough and sank down next to Geoff on the bench. The older survivor smirked knowingly and offered a rough pat on the back, _unknowingly_ jutting his previously disjointed shoulder painfully.

With a weary sigh and a few moments of shifting until all of his aching limbs were accommodated, Michael rested into the table, all but ignoring the food that sat mere centimeters from his propped elbow. It was easy to ignore the rumbling of his stomach when his overpowering paranoia was shielding any and all of his more primitive desires. The ghostly familiar smell of ale prodded his nose, along with the fresh scent of boiled carrots assaulted his nose and made it a little bit easier to avoid his better judgments and snatch a carrot up to chew on noisily. 

It was easy to determine the time of day: reddening sunlight coming through the windows, particularly pre-dinner-timey food sprawled out; it mustn’t be far after 5 past noon.

Gavin, who moments ago seemed pleased enough, returned to sulk across the table from Geoff and Michael, “Feeling better?” He wondered, his voice a bit too loud on Michael’s ears. A noncommittal grunt was the response. 

Jack walked in with nothing more than a flint and steel with Ray behind him, but the ginger walked clear past the others and out the front door; Ray remained stood in the doorway with his arms crossed loosely. Geoff stared at him questioningly, eyes darting between the masked man and the door. 

“Oh, I get it.” Gavin smiled after a few moments of hesitant silence, and stood up and skittered after Jack. 

Rubbing large circles around his temples- Michael strained to glare, “Get what, stupid?”

There was no response.

“He’s gonna start a camp fire; roast fish the old fashion way.” Ray smiled fondly, “We do it whenever we’re planning on moving camps. And, since we’ll be heading off early morning tomorrow, I’d say that’s what he’s doing.” He explained, subconsciously fiddling with the front clasps of his cape and his loosened tie. 

Michael groaned loudly and his head _thunked_ noisily onto the table, “We have to leave to soon?” It wasn’t a plea for the contrary to take place instead, but he wasn’t going to ignore the strained ache of his muscles and the unyielding desire to sleep for a whole day. After a moment of sitting still Michael recoiled at the wooden, musty smell of the table, and forced himself back up to an upright position to flee from the scent. 

Ray shrugged, “Unfortunately; yeah.” He mumbled, a bit unsure of the reaction he would receive, “We’re going east, towards the mountains. Well….that’s a long term goal, cos we’ve got a lot of shit to do before then.” Ray continued to grumble in a hushed tone that neither Geoff nor Michael could differentiate from a noisy breath; but there was something about _’The Nether’_ and _’No goddamn supplies’_ that caught Geoff’s ear. 

“Fair enough,” Geoff stood up upon speaking, arching his back and eliciting a disconcerting crack from his spine, “We’re headed east as well, if you and Jack would like-“

“ _Geoff!_ ”

“-to tag along with us.” Geoff heard Michael groan and slump back down against the table exasperatedly.

For all it was worth, Ray didn’t seem surprised by the offer, in fact, a knowing smirk snuck over his face and pulled at the corners of his mouth; his arms were still crossed, but not defensively and not angrily, but rather relaxed and unconcerned. “Well,” He began, his voice skittering around amusement, “Let’s go outside and relax for a bit; we’ll talk later.” He un-crossed his arms and made a motion for Geoff and Michael to follow him out the door. 

It took a bit of coaxing to get Michael onto his feet and shuffling slowly outside into the late afternoon haze that sat in the air like smog in a city, brought about by the setting Sun seeping through the atmosphere, through the elements and the clouds to sit in the sky and paint the green canopy with pink and orange light. It was almost relaxing, just like Michael’s knee _almost_ didn’t hurt when he put his weight on it as he walked towards the logs that were rolled around the fire pit that was little more than a shallow hole dug into the ground.

Gavin and Jack were poking at the fire that was hardly a quarter-meter high, carefully (or in Gavin’s case; not so carefully) putting logs into the pit, tossing in a few dry leaves to kindle the flame. Gavin’s grin was contagious, and perhaps the slightest bit mad. The ginger swatted at the Archer when he leaned over the fire to grab for a stick, incidentally allowing his scarf end to gently swing into the flames that licked at the green fabric. Gavin let loose an indignant shriek and flung himself backwards, pounding on the end of his scarf until the fire dissipated; the end had been singed and frayed, now shifting from a charred black to the usual green higher up. The creeper-face pattern had not been charred and Gavin breathed a sigh of relief; glad it was still recognizable. 

Geoff laughed, “You idiot.” He groaned when he sat down on one of the logs. His armor was bulky and annoying and part of his chest plate was pressed into his side uncomfortably, and no manner of shifting and wiggling around alleviated the annoying, dull pain. 

However, Michael had it worse off, his throbbing calves screaming for him to stop fucking moving and to sit the hell down, an order which he was quick to comply to as he collapsed onto the log nearest Geoff. The older survivor chuckled, “Hang in there Mogar.” He said somewhat comfortingly. 

Still by the fire, Jack reached for one more log, and only Ray noticed how the ginger stopped mid-motion and noticeably clenched his jaw- the others were too busy beginning to talk amongst themselves- but Ray was very rapidly worried. The resident architect slowly brought his arm back around and rubbed at his right shoulder, “Jack…?” The masked man mumbled quietly; he was concerned but out of respect for his partner’s pride, remained in place, worried expression firmly in place. And even through the orange firelight he could see the bright green eyes that flicked up to meet his gaze with a comforting familiarity that instantly eased Ray’s worried nerves. 

Jack nodded and smiled, “M’okay.” He said so quietly Ray had to read his lips. 

“Wot are we doin’ out here anyway?” Gavin asked aloud, scooting himself back to sit against one of the logs rather than on top of it; his eyes were locked on the fire in a manner that Ray was not too convinced was normal. 

Michael reached over and smacked him in the back of the head before letting his arm flop back down to his side, “Obviously having a cookout, stupid.” He grumbled. He pointed bonelessly at the slab of raw fish. “See?” 

Gavin’s mouth formed a hesitant ‘O’ before the green-clad survivor scooted himself across the grass to get a stick and a fish, ignoring Ray mumbling about how they had not even finished building the fire. He jabbed the stick into the blue scales, right through the middle of the fish’s body, he remembered Geoff telling him _something_ about correctly preparing a fish to be eaten, but he also remembered Michael saying that there was nothing wrong with just taking a bite from a raw fish; so in a compromising mindset, Gavin was not about to worry about gutting or scaling or anything of the sort. 

And maybe it was Gavin’s unique obliviousness and inability to read social situations, but he didn’t pinpoint both Jack and Ray’s nervous body movements, more notably Jack’s; he was shifting a bit too much on his knees as he worked with the fire, free hand drumming methodically on his thigh. He looked a nervous wreck, but Gavin- being himself- didn’t notice a thing, and minutes later happily bit into the tangy fish meat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was no midnight update because I actually wasn't done with chapter 4 until just a little while ago since I've been so terribly busy this past week, and I also feel bad because it's about three thousand words shorter than previous chapters, but I think the chapters are going to get shorter anyway because 6-7 thousand words per chapter (per week) is a lot for me.
> 
> Anyway there's a lot of socio-political, and class-system things I really want to explain but I may have to explain the brunt of it all outside the fic-setting because within the AU, the information is just kind of known by everyone so obvious no one is really going to be explaining it. 
> 
> But anyway, please enjoy this chapter, and check the End Notes for some explanation. ^-^

“I’m not…” Ray stopped, his hands held in front of him in mock-explanation, all instinct telling him to shut his mouth, the rapid beating of his heart relaying his anxiety through a quick pulse and heat on his face. Jack looked just as nervous as he was, and Ray wished he could quell the worried glances and the paranoid shuffling his partner was subject to; but of course he understood- their lives have been spent with one-another, protection and concern were ingrained into the both of them.

Gavin tore his eyes away from the fire for just a moment, half-eaten fish clenched between his teeth, innocent, big brown orbs looking expectantly in his direction. For all the lethal naivety the young survivor kept hidden beneath a genuine façade of unknowing righteousness, he honestly seemed to have no idea what’s going on at any given time. 

“Not what, dude?” Geoff wondered through a mouthful of fish, still so nonchalant even in the shadow of momentous news. 

Suddenly his mouth was very dry and Ray felt the sweat on his palms; it was stupid to be making such a big deal out of it, it was ridiculous that he was even bothering to tell them- it wasn’t their business, why did they have to know?

“Not comfortable around you guys yet,” Jack cut in, seemingly out of the blue. Ray turned a questioning gaze on him, but was reassured by the tiny hand-motion and calm look he received; he trusted his partner. The ginger leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, “So, what’s with you three?” Maybe it was the exhaustion in his tone, but Ray could not hear any underlying meaning behind the words; no implication of a plan. Which meant he was stalling, and part of Ray thanked him profusely for doing so.

After a noisy swallow, Gavin- and all his insouciant readiness- spoke first. “Well,” He began looking at the rapidly darkening sky, at a loss as to where he should begin. “I was, uh, born in the city,”

A muffled snort and a mumbled _”Of course.”_ is faintly heard but otherwise ignored. 

“Not a terribly large city, as cities go; but big enough that I was cared for after my mum and dad walked out on me, until I was old enough to live with the other kids in the nearby woods; building wood huts and eating berries and poorly cooked fish for dinner, and every other meal.” He chuckled, and there was a concealed resemblance of long-forgotten destitution evident in his softly cracking voice. His eyes were back on the fire as he continued, “When I was 12, a blacksmith-craftsman-type-guy in my city started letting me come it and learn how to make arrowheads, and soon enough I was learning how to use a bow and arrow.” He spotted the water bottles sat near Jack’s foot and scooted himself closer to snatch one up, he struggled with the cork for a few seconds before it popped off (not without sloshing some of the water onto Gavin’s arm) and the Archer drank a mouthful. 

He wiped his face on the back of his arm, and incidentally on his leather arm-guards. “Said it was my _’destined tool’_ and told me that everyone has one; like a weapon you use in battle that you’ll be most victorious with, or I guess even something like a flint-and-steel could constitute as a destiny tool.” Gavin finished, staring pointlessly at his water, swirling it around in its glass. He didn’t talk and therefore left the air victim to the drawn-out, awkward silence that followed

Geoff cleared his throat and sat forward a bit, rubbing the back of his neck, “I, uhm…well I wish I could remember more about my earlier life so I could, y’know, partake in story time with you kiddos, but unfortunately anything before I almost killed Michael upon first meeting him is a blur.” He chuckled and bit almost timidly on his fish.

“ _Uh_ -” Michael grunted and struggled to usher his head up straight to address the posse, “I think it was _me_ who almost killed _you_.” He slurred before letting his head slump back against the log. The four others laughed at that, but more so at the stringent survivor’s jaded exhaustion in contrast with his atypically brawny adaptations. 

Out of good-natured exasperation, Geoff rolled his eyes, “Anyway, we’ve been exploring for about 19 years together; long time, as partnerships go.” There was a small sound of amazement from Gavin, and Jack also looked impressed by the number. “And besides that; after _you’ve_ been around for 70 years, your memory isn’t gonna be the best.”

Geoff could not tell if Gavin spit out his water to accentuate his surprise, or if it was accidental, either way it was unnecessary and he half-heartedly kicked the younger man with the toe of his iron-clad boot. However it was only after that, that he noticed Jack and Ray were sharing a credible look of surprise to coincide with Gavin’s, and Geoff looked at them curiously, “What?” He mumbled. 

“You’re 70 years old?!” The Archer nearly shouted a moment later.

“Well, 76 as of the last full moon but-“

“Holy shit!”

Michael reached over without looking and smacked Gavin upside the head for being so intrusive, “Shut up you fucking retard, he’s obviously not that young, you realize half the stories he’s told you are from before you were born.” The Hunter said through partially clenched teeth.

Gavin looked at Geoff, then to the two other survivors present, “But I’m only like 25- or something; I assumed they were stories from when he was a kid!” The accented young man exclaimed, still looking shell-shocked. Michael sighed and pulled his hood further over his head and tried with even more gusto to ignore everyone else until his head ache decided to dissipate. 

There was a quiet chuckle and the center of the conversation shifted to Ray, “I knew you were the oldest, but damn dude.” The masked man could not keep himself from smirking. Geoff did not look exactly offended, but straightened his posture and kept his eyes trained on his host.

“Well young’in; how old are the two of you? There’s no way you’ve been around for less than 30 years at the least.” A pair of hesitant looks followed the statement, so Geoff continued, “You’re both highly practiced, like me and Michael, but my guess is you were born in the same town or some-shit. Not to mention all your scars. It’s pretty easy to tell, actually.” He pointed out, crossing his arms. 

There was a bout of silence that seemed more than a bit tense before Ray spoke out, “True enough, Ramsey, but uhh- I think you’ve miscalculated a bit.” He smirked, shuffling his position until he was seated cross-legged next to his partner.” Jack’s only been around for 18 years.”

Gavin gawked at that too, “18 years old? You’re a bloody baby!” He squeaked, jerking himself to the left to avoid Michael slapping at him again.

Jack flushed just a bit and tucked his head down, “Ray’s only 11.” He mumbled, and Ray didn’t react as the ginger had, rather continued to cook his fish over the fire nonchalantly. 

Even exhausted and achy, Michael turned his head up at this new information, eyebrow raised and mouth pulled into a thin line, “You can’t be serious; you’re both that young?” Past his strained voice there was a genuine tone of surprise. 

Ray offered a sagely nod, “Well, let’s just say,” He glanced quickly to his right at Jack, “life has been far from decent to us.” He grinned and bit carefully into his cook fish, the pale meat crisped along the edges. It was juicy and naturally flavored, and Ray allowed himself to indulge in the taste for just a moment; such a momentary pleasantry deserved a temporary delay of any and all personal obligation. 

There was comfortable silence that lingered for a few minutes, and Geoff nodded in understanding. You could almost _feel_ the inquiries lingering in the air like a thick fog; but if no one was going to ask, Ray and Jack weren’t going to continue.

The light in the sky had all but dissipated to be replaced with the mess of paint-flecked stars over a midnight black canvas, though the orange sparks that rose high above the fire in heavy contrast only to cool off into black embers that were taken off with the breeze. The warmth of the hearth felt livid against chilled skin in the autumn air, smoothing down goose bumps and warming body and spirit alike. 

Previous spats aside, it was a moment in which all 5 could forgive and forget, and revel in the strange, new, but not so unwelcomed company as they ate, drank, and listened to the sounds of the oncoming twilight. Their limbs ached, but their stomachs were stretched, which comforted them into palpable reticence; welcomed by tired souls.

“ _Mh_ ’Mogar, by the way.” Michael mumbled very out-of-the-blue, still not bringing himself from his slumped position against the log to Geoff’s left. He raised his hand and made a swirling motion in mid-air, “Yeah since we’re having a little meet-and-greet; that’s ma’ name, don’t fucking tell me it’s not or I’ll break your fucking fingers.” The threat was very real but his voice was so drained that it was almost funny to hear such venom within a lackluster tone and depraved-looking posture. 

With vague interest, Ray quirked his head to one side, there was a formerly unseen wonder in his eyes that lit up his face even if he did his best to subdue the excitement, trying to mask his eager jitter by raising a hand to rub his face and straighten out his mask. “I’ve heard stories of him- er… _you_. They’re some of my favorites.”

Jack chuckled softly behind him, “And that’s saying something because he knows _a lot_ of stories.”

“Yeah,” The masked survivor nodded and laughed in guilty agreement. “But hey,” He subconsciously reached his arm around to fiddle mindlessly with the edges of his cape as he spoke, “Any enemy of Creators is a friend of mine.” He admitted.

Michael laughed breathily and sat forward just enough to good-naturedly, albeit roughly, slap a hand to the younger man’s back, “Good to know we’re in the same boat.” A strained groan escaped him when he sat back; he flinched and arched his spine until he could slowly ease himself back and rest his head on the wooden log again.

Having been shockingly attentive whilst the conversation took place, Gavin swallowed his mouthful of fish, “Wot’s wrong with Creators?” He wondered aloud, “When I wos a kiddo they told me it’s thanks to Creators that we have so much cool stuff.” 

“Yeah,” Michael snorted, “Little brat growing up in a city, probably run by Creators, built by ‘em; trust me they’re nothing but no-good scumbags.” His argument was lacking in reason, but it was the experienced inflection to his tone that silenced any lingering questions. 

There was a contemplative hum that came from the green-clad Archer, “Wouldn’t know, actually; never met one in my life. Just heard stories. Fairytales you know.” With his barren stick he poked mindlessly at the fire, “Creator kings and queens and their kingdoms of ol’. My mentor used to tell me stories about times my parents told _him_ stories, about how my grandmother was a Creator- who was a duchess in one of the last Creative kingdoms; the Haywood regime I think.” He said very matter-of-fact, and Ray’s head snapped towards him. 

No one noticed aside from Jack, who sat forward far enough to inquire to his partner if anything was the matter, and Ray only offered a half-hearted shake of his head, because he had no idea himself, but the name sat dancing along the furthest boundaries of his mind and fished in vain for a solution to the lingering question that was ‘what is it?’. It bothered him, whatever it was; something in the name Haywood leaving a sour taste on his tongue even if he dared not speak it out-loud.

“Yeah I’ve heard stories of them; the Haywoods I mean,” Geoff piped up, “Apparently the last king and queen were _mean_ assholes, like using anyone who wasn’t a Creator for slave labor, specially the Adventurers, like, single-handedly I think the Haywoods took Adventurers from a place of revered ideology to dirty-blooded scum that society generally hated.” For all it was worth, Geoff seemed disgruntled enough relaying the information, hopefully indicating a personal objection to the matter at hand. 

There was a strangled groan off behind Jack, which stole his attention immediately, and he flipped around to stare into the inky tree line for a solid 2 minutes, his hand drifting instinctively to his iron sword awaiting his hold to his back-right. 

Ray tried to get his attention discretely, but his hushed calls were cancelled out by Geoff and Michael beginning to laugh and joke around at Gavin’s expense, and the ginger’s eyes were concentrated elsewhere, so that was proving to be a pointless front. He turned back towards the fire and reached to cook another fish, his shoulders remaining slouched as he tried to hide behind the flames as if the three survivors across from him could see all his insecurities floating around him like gnats on a summer day.

But it’s not summer; it’s almost winter, and the air feels just a bit colder against his skin than he wishes. 

_._

After Jack and Geoff had to fight off a small hoard of the undead, they were all ushered back into the house and essentially off to bed. Geoff’s snoring was audible through the wall as Ray laid down in his own bed for the first time in a few days; it still smelled faintly like the grimy Hunter who had taken up the space the previous two days, but it was late and Ray was cold so he ignored the ripe stench and burrowed himself into the mountain of blankets. 

However he did not ( _could not_ ) sleep. His eyes remained open and focused blankly on the ceiling, trying to take comfort in the enveloping firelight that emanated from the fire burning steadily in the far corner of his room. And perhaps he took solace in the immediate setting, but he was not tired and no embrace of blankets and warmth was helping. 

The name ‘Haywood’ continued to leave a gaping hole in his grasp on reality, which was testy enough as it was. It was 11 years ago that he came into the world in the same body which he died in, his memories were scattered and names sat in the estranged brain of a young man who, at the time, could not have told a tree and a river apart.

He was lucky, he supposed upon further recollection, that from the moment he breathed in the stinging air of the winter and nearly killed himself within his first day of life- that Jack was there for him, not much older than himself, but there nonetheless. Jack always had the answer, was always the intelligent one, because, as Ray learned, while he was created practically into the caring embrace of the self-taught architect, Jack was not, but rather created into a place where no one ever survived and there was no one to teach him; but somehow he survived and learned. The story was one of Ray’s most favorites. 

“Ray?” the quiet voice caused him to look languidly towards the door of his room where his partner stood leaning in the doorway. Without his bandolier of potions, belts, armor, or scarf on; Jack looked considerably smaller (i.e. less intimidating), which Ray understood was something only he has ever seen. “You alright?” He asked quietly. 

Ray smiled, “Yeah bud’ I’m good.” He admitted ( _lied_ ). He supposed it was the other man’s exhaustion that allowed him to begin walking away as opposed to calling Ray on his very obvious miss telling of the truth. “Jack-“ He lifted his arm slightly as if to reach for the survivor. 

“What?” Jack wondered worriedly as he quickly turned back into the doorway. Ray felt bad after seeing the budding panic in his eyes, so he motioned for his partner to walk closer and sit down; which he did, and sat on the edge of the bed. 

The wool better sank down when Jack seated himself. “Sorry; nothing’s wrong I just wanted to say thank you.” Ray admitted. 

His partner made a face, “Why? I haven’t really done anything to warrant-“ 

Ray interrupted, “You’ve done something _so_ out of your comfort zone- that you’re not sleeping; but you’re handling it for my sake,” He smiled brightly and pulled his friend into a tight hug, which was returned in all the right ways. “So yeah; thanks.”

It felt about a million times better for Ray to just have Jack around, to have him in the same room was better than having an obsidian fortress with guns and swords, because what was a palace to a smile that lights up the room and an intelligence that surpasses all others? It was worth nothing comparatively; Ray decided as he lay back and began to talk idly, because it was painfully obvious neither of them could sleep. The ginger was ready to tell him more about how potions are made, and the class-system that Ray has almost no firm grasp on aside from understanding his vague, and blurry past. 

At some point Ray woke up, and still the only light in the room was the fire off to his left, so he knew it was still early in the twilight hours of the morning. Jack was asleep leaning up against the wall on the end of his bed; it was an endearing sight, so Ray left well enough alone and pulled his blanket up over the bridge of his nose, buried his head into his pillow and quickly fell asleep again. He’d worry about the turmoil in his head tomorrow, or maybe even the day after that, because Ray was more than contented right then-and-there, and just wanted some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +The class system was something previously revered in the AU, about 150 years prior to the story taking place was when there were kingdoms and kings and queens, but there aren't anymore, all the royal bloodlines are either dead or dispersed. The classes consist of: *Humans, with a typical estimated lifespan of 100 years - *Survivors, with an estimated lifespan of 150 years - *Creators, with an estimated lifespan of 500 years - *Adventurers, with an estimated lifespan of 170 years.  
> (Of course, just like a person living to be 100 is pretty old, a survivor living to be 150, ect., is _really_ old.
> 
> +Adventurers are thought to have basically gone extinct because after there were no more kingdoms to live in, they were either killed by bigots who thought Adventurers had dirty blood, or they just died because they couldn't protect themselves.  
> +And Creators, on their own part, tend to experience mental decay and be both mentally, and emotionally challenged around the age of 400 due to exposure to time. However that is determined by what the Creator did in their life; if they remained relaxed and kept themselves in good health (in all manner of the term) then they may have very few problems upon reaching the age of 400 and can live out their old age peacefully.  
> +A good thing to note is that Creators can only feasibly be killed by other Creators, and not by average means.
> 
> (If you have questions or want to question my deranged logic, just right me in the comments, and leave your feedback about the fic so far ^-^)
> 
>  **Edit** :  
> I should mention the visual aging of each class does vary. Survivors, Creators, and Adventurers (this being if they are 'spawned' and not born) will come into being looking like full grown people and will only visually age in small ways overtime. However, if any one of these classes happen to be born via biological parents, they will still posses the suspected lifespan, but will age up and through mid-adulthood (meaning they'll look like a baby, toddler, pre-teen, teen, young adult until they reach a certain age, where upon they will no longer visibly age until they are very old).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a trash child and I belong in the garbage along with this chapter; this is a really late in the day update and I'm not super proud of how much actual sotryline I moved along, so I'm sorry for wasting your time I was just so busy this week. 
> 
> And also; happy birthday to me, I got Ryan's new 'Achieve' shirt from my mum so yeah, and also a new laptop for college next year ^-^ Next week's chapter will be better I promise ^^;

Jack was not quite certain whether or not he should be concerned at the deranged cackles that were coming from the younger man’s mouth as he finished dumping another pale of lava over the wooden structure that they had, less than an hour ago, been sleeping in. Gavin stood back and admired his handiwork, barely noticing the heated metal of the bucket burning a red sear into his hand; only when Michael tossed a pebble at his head did he turn and join the four members of the posse waiting for him, though not without snatching up his worn-out satchel and throwing it over his shoulder.

Ray looked him up-and-down, holding an odd look, “Have fun there champ?” He wondered, only mildly concerned. 

Gavin was inspecting the burns on his arms he did not remember getting but turned his head up to acknowledge the question with a noncommittal nod. Seemingly contented with the response, Ray turned his head towards the partially-risen sun in the East, “Right then, off we go.” He stated, perhaps a bit of uncertainty laced into his tone.

Heading east, they watched the sun begin to rise above the trees and let light peak through the canopy and bounce off their swords, armor, and anything else that was reflective; Gavin found it more than a bit amusing to shine light into Jack’s eyes by bouncing it off his borrowed iron sword. The ginger played along and begin plucking berries and twigs off the trees they were passing to throw at the lad, laughing warmly when Gavin wasn’t watching where he was going and smacked into a tree. 

Ahead of the group Michael remained silent, even when Geoff invited him to join in his and Ray’s conversation, the Hunter just kept his head high and straight and walked with a long, steady gait that kept him in front of the others, but not so far that he couldn’t keep a trained eye and ear on the lot. Aside from playing babysitter, he watched the passing trees, looked into the darkness of the thick forest for anything notable or dangerous; but more so he was fixed on the path ahead of him, and the darkness that faded into more and more trees in a smothering tunnel of endless natural essence. He hated the woods- loved it for its abundance of wood and Earthly resources, not to mention the cool relief from the beating Sun in the summer months- but hated it for not only the darkness that possessed any amount of mystery and uncertainty, but for its suffocating claustrophobia that added an unneeded anxiety to his chest.

Unbeknownst to Michael, Jack was not finding any consolation in the surrounding darkness either; he gripped the hilt of his sword tight enough to turn his knuckles white beneath his fingerless gloves. His breathing remained steady, an exercise practiced over time, but that did not stop the light prickling of sweat that formed just under his bangs from sheer nervousness and years worth of fearing that which he was surrounded by as they stalked through the woods. Quietly, Ray laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled reassuringly, and occasionally mimicked the gesture until they emerged from the forest onto the plains. They were all glad to see the sky and the morning sun in contrast to the suffocating woods. 

Happy in his ignorance- Gavin started snatching pebbles up from the ground, scouring the tall grass for each one, and tossing them at Michael, who could only bear it for so long until he snapped and shouted at the younger man to stop; the warning was promptly ignored and Gavin chucked one particularly hefty stone at their Hunter’s head. Michael growled, but it was not quite as malicious or terrifying as they all knew it could have been, and he feigned chasing after the lad just long enough to scare him into sprinting forward blindly and incidentally tripping over a bush.

Everyone, aside from the Archer face-down in the shrubbery, and Michael who almost never showed positive emotions, laughed wholeheartedly at the scene, and even harder when Gavin shrieked and began flailing about. Strangely enough, it was Michael who strode towards the wriggling mess and grabbed him by the scarf and yanked him out and back onto his ass; something, apparently, had not sounded completely normal about the way the younger man had been screeching. 

It was about that point (seeing Gavin’s terrified expression) that Geoff, Ray, and Jack stopped laughing and looked on silently, their attentiveness brought about by concern and curiosity. The wide brown irises with nothing more than pinprick pupils that flew to them all then back to the bush were scared, and his body language was jittery at best. “There’s a…it was…that can’t b-….is that _real_?!” He sputtered around his words and scooted himself backwards until he ran into Jack’s leg. 

Ray was first to step forward and investigate, gently moving the shrub around to try and locate any source of ill-contempt that would have scared their Archer so bad, “I don’t see what’s wro- _oh my god!_ ” The masked man skittered backwards, nearly dropping his backpack in the process. 

“Hm, I knew I smelled something.” Michael mumbled after looking within the bush himself. Jack stepped forward but was stopped by the older survivor, who put an arm out to stop him, “You don’t want to.” He stated simply. 

From behind them, Ray stalked next to his partner and put a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t.” He mumbled, “It’s a body.” For all it was worth, Jack wasn’t making any more moves to look.

And as if things weren’t already becoming tense, Gavin decided to shriek from his place behind everyone, “That’s hardly a body! It’s a skeleton with muscle and tendons hanging off of it in-“ Geoff slapped a hand over his mouth after seeing Jack’s healthy, rosy pallor going pale green. 

Michael glared at the young man, “I doubt it’s the first time you’ve seen one, now shut up and let’s keep moving.”

The Archer wriggled out of Geoff’s grip and picked up his fallen satchel, “First time I bloody tripped and fell _onto_ one.” He grumbled and began dusting off the front of his shirt, repulsed by the gruesome dark red stains that lay spotted over the green fabric. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Ray cut-off anyone else ready to berate Gavin, and with a supportive hand on Jack’s shoulder, he led them on, “We have about an hour till we reach the base of the most western mountain.” He explained.

“An hour and ten minutes; by the speed you’re walking.” A new voice, and newly acquired defensiveness. Gavin had a bow drawn, Michael had a diamond sword out, Geoff got his little-used mace from his knapsack, Jack was already wielding a potion of harming in either-hand, and Ray took the iron sword at his belt (along with the wooden hoe he had there as well, though he supposed that wouldn’t help him).

Michael scanned the surrounding grasses for anyone but saw nothing, he took off his goggles as if the tinted blue surface would hinder his sight; it did not help and he was left confused and worried, and more than a little bit useless. “ _Yoo-hoo~_ ” The voice sing-songed. Tracking the noise, Michael looked up and saw something… _someone floating._ He listened to Geoff call for Gavin to fire, which the Archer did on command and hit the person in the chest. The arrow contact sent them reeling for a moment before a deranged chuckle was heard. 

The silhouetted form against the sunlight began to sink, and eventually, Michael was face-to-face with a man, looking a bit worn-for-wear; scruffy brown hair and a stubbly jawline, crooked nose, and tired brown eyes, all adorned with bruises and cuts that looked old and new simultaneously. In the center of his chest, the arrow protruded, the feathers at the end almost close enough to touch Michael’s chin. “Call your archer off, that kinda fuckin’ hurt.” The stranger grinned and touched a finger to the tip of Michael’s sword and pushed it down; the action drew the smallest drop of blood from the tip of his finger.

It was clear to see the dull gold running down pale skin in the morning sunlight.

Michael’s rage flared and he gripped his sword tight enough to hurt, his muscles began to visually strain and his eyes were flooded with crimson anger, but Geoff was in front of him, holding him back with his entire body, as was Gavin. The youngest of the three strained to hold back the stronger, more muscular Hunter as he pushed against them, even when his sword was snatched out of his grip he still persisted, holding his hands out like claws of a bear going in for the kill.

“Ooh, quite a temper I see.” The stranger grinned and floated just above the ground to circle the group once or twice. “Is that any way to thank someone who’s about to lead you to where you can get some food and shelter?” Even though he seemed amused, his voice sank into a more troubled tone, “Plus, I didn’t even attack you.” 

“You didn’t need to! Your kind doesn’t need an excuse to be attacked!” Ray shouted and started forward as well, but Jack had an easy enough time holding the smaller man back. 

The stranger quirked his head to one side, “Ah, so, not only tempers, but some kind of ingrained class discrimination. How… _quaint._ ” He said dully. Michael, again, surged against the hold of his companions, but continued to be held back. Geoff began mumbling rushed incoherencies at his partner, and although Gavin found it pointless, it seemed to work after a minute when he ceased to feel the fur-clad survivor pushing against him. The fire in Michael’s eyes died away to be replaced with passive loathing that remained in place as Geoff turned to the stranger, still floating just above the ground in front of them. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Geoff wondered harshly, a biting sting to his tone. 

The stranger seemed taken aback, “You’re the ones who wandered into _my_ kingdom, I should be asking _you_ that.” He pointed out.

Geoff looked him up and down, “There are no more Creator Kingdoms; the last one fell 150 years ago.” He said matter-of-fact.

“Well,” The Creator hummed thoughtfully, “Let’s just say mummy and daddy wanted nothing to do with me 150 years ago; therefore they paid the price and ultimately lost their bloodline. I won’t be giving up such a place of power so easily, however.” He turned and raised his hand to make a gesture, signaling the group to follow him. “Come; I’ll tell you more.” 

Gavin looked worriedly from person-to-person, questioning with his eye as to whether or not they should follow; Geoff didn’t know, Michael didn’t want to, neither did Ray and Jack- so saying they all were at a loss as to where to go from there would be relatively accurate. However, it was Michael that stretched his shoulders and re-sheathed his sword, replaced his goggles over his eyes and began trudging after their new, flying companion. 

Not ones to be left in the dust, Jack and Ray followed, and then Geoff, and then Gavin hurrying to catch up with his friends; he was not fond of this idea, nor the thought of making a stop when they had only just left. He grumbled quietly to himself from the back of the group, and said nothing to them, even as an hour passed and the most western mountain loomed over them; his hands were shoved into his pockets, and his shoulders were hunched as they entered a gated town through a large, ominous spruce wood gate- all the logs sharpened to a point at the tops.

In contrast to the immaculately crafted gates, the encompassed houses (if they could even be called that) were visibly run-down, filthy, and seemingly uninhabitable; the rotting wood and rusting iron that made up the walls and the bindings were barely noticeable behind a thick coating of splattered mud. Michael, although he tried to hide it, recoiled and had to cover his hyper-sensitive nose to keep from breathing in the foul stench that rose from the very earth they stood on. Geoff was trying to not step in anything he wasn’t at least 90% sure was mud; skipping from dry-dirt patch to shoddy wooden-plank path like a jittery fox. 

The people of the town looked warily at them…no, rather, they kept their gazes trained on the Creator; their king, so it seemed. It was the mistrust and fear in the people’s eyes that set Jack’s defense on edge; he’d learned that whenever he had the instinct to draw his sword, then something wasn’t right, and they needed to leave before something happened that they couldn’t handle. He was taking in his surroundings carefully, making certain he did not make eye-contact with any of the townspeople; he felt a shoulder brush against his briefly, and he knew it was Ray. He reached over to squeeze his partner’s shoulder as comfortingly as he could in such a situation. 

“Come, friends.” The Creator summoned, and flew low to zip through the doorway before them. Confidence restored with the thought of not standing in the mud, Geoff was the first to step forward through the threshold and onto the stone brick floors that ultimately were followed down the elongated room to an iron-made throne with brown furs draped over it for cushioning. The posse tracked muddy footprints of all sizes, over all manner of gaits down the woolen carpeting, their armor and other such materials clanked together loudly in contrast to the encompassing silence of, what was obviously a throne room. 

Their resident Creator flew steadily over them and landed himself in his throne; he snapped his fingers and within moments, a small child with mid-length blonde hair ran from another room with a shiny, oak-made box and scampered up the throne and stood with his arms outstretched to hand the Creator the box. He wore a beige tunic with a brown vest and a bit of rope tied around his waist, and while he looked dirty and worn-out- he still had the youthful countenance any young child should; which is more than they could say for the children they saw passing through town. 

With a smile, the Creator waved the child off after taking the box, and the young lad nodded and hurried off, jumping over the last couple of steps and leaving through the door which he entered through. It was oddly silent for a few lingering moments as the Creator pulled a silver crown from the box and placed it on his head with no manner of ease, so it sat crookedly on his head, and not in the endearing way one might imagine.

He made a half-hearted gesture at the door where the child left through, “Shawcross’ kid, Kerry I think’s his name. Parents died a year or so ago, I took him in, cos y’know, I’m a pretty nice king.” His voice was full of dry arrogance; he sounded like an old man trying to fit a younger man’s part. “I’m Joel; King Heyman if you’re nasty.” Joel grinned and threw his arms out, “Welcome to der _Tal von Schmerz_.”

Geoff was beyond done at this point, his annoyance and uncertainty morphing completely into aggravated fear, his arms were crossed as he stepped up, “Good for you,” He hissed, “Listen, we’d love to stay and chat King Crazy, but we’ve got a tight schedule to keep; we need to be through the pass, over the eastern peak, and in the lowlands before winter.” He explained. 

Joel seemed surprised, “Well you’ve got about a week for that, you’ll never make it in time, there’s a storm coming.”

“We’ll take our chances.” Geoff huffed and turned on his heels. The guardsmen stood in front of him with their swords held to their chests, they were like small monuments interrupting his path, and although he was confident, he felt so incredibly small. At the other end of the hallway, the doors opened and men and women alike pilled through the doors, which may not have been so strange, had it not been for the swords, axes, and armor they all had or wore. Altogether they looked to be a peasant army. 

In his mind, Ray was rushing to find a way to get them out of the situation, because every instinct in his body was telling him to run as fast as he could; the layered brick on the walls would provide ample leverage, and he knew that both he and Jack could handle the climb without a problem, but he surprised himself when he realized Gavin, Geoff, and Michael were not as good at free-range climbing and he actually _cared_ that they may not make it.

He looked around, and tapped his hand nervously against his sides, he registered Geoff and Joel speaking again, but did not connect the sounds to any words he knew- his legs moved mindlessly when one of the armored guards moved nearer to Jack, and the masked man put himself between them, glaring down the wall of a man while carefully ushering his partner in reverse. 

While fear was an over encompassing factor thrown into the muddled-stew in his head, Ray swore he knew this place, knew the face of the conceded fool sat deceitfully on his throne- it was another moment in his life in which he questioned who he was and what he knew, and that did not help him try to formulate an escape plan. 

There was a loud noise and a dull thud, Ray looked up and saw Geoff pushing himself off the floor, a new bruise decorated his cheek; he looked angry. Joel was stood in front of his thrown, fist tightly clenched in front of him, rings and silver bracelets rattling against each-other. “How dare you talk to me that way!” He boomed, glowering down at them. 

Michael had a sword on either hand already, and was waiting for the queue to strike; he was seething. 

“You’re garbage, just like the rest of ‘em!” Geoff spat and forced himself to his feet. In one long, swift motion he pulled his mace and brought it up to rest on his shoulder, “Now I suggest you let us leave.” He demanded.

Looking exasperated, Joel sighed, “Y’know, I was only trying to be hospitable.” He whined.

Geoff’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as he spoke, “Yes. You’ve done a wonderful job. And you will be an even _better_ host- if you stop hosting us and show us the door.” He tried his best to smirk when he added- “ _Sir._ ” out of cocky respite.

“Maybe it’s best not to provoke him.” Jack cautioned quietly, growing more nervous with the approaching village militia.

In the silence there was a sinister chuckle, followed by the tell-tale scraping of a sword’s tip against stone and the soft padding of feet against steps before both stopped. “Hm, well, since I don’t _let_ people through without paying their dues. And as king I need to protect my-“

“You’re no king!” A new voice; great, that’s all they needed, Ray sighed. Through one of the many side doors came a completely cloaked figure, dark red fabric draped over a head and shoulders and dragging the ground around this new stranger. “Your mother was a filthy liar.” The voice was deeper with a faint, unfamiliar accent, and was full of spite, “Your entire bloodline is tainted.” A shimmering golden blade poked out from under the cloak and seemed to glow in the low light of the throne room. 

Gavin already had a bow trained on the new stranger. “What the bloody hell is even going on?” He mumbled under his breath.

Joel sneered at the cloaked figure, “Let’s just say it’s an old blood feud and be done with that.” He said. He motioned with his arm and the guards charged at the stranger, which thereby set the townsfolk off and the hoard of people came charging down. Gavin began to fire off arrows, but he would not stay the masses, although he continued until Jack grabbed his arm and threw him off-kilter.

“What the fuck are you doing? Those are regular people!” The ginger shouted, appalled by the behavior. 

The Archer looked at him crookedly, “Yeah but they’re charging us!”

Ray moved to intervene but a rapidly approaching figure in his left peripheral kicked him into high-gear; he grabbed Jack and pulled him backwards as a mad farmer swung an axe down where he had just been standing. Michael was the one that exclaimed less than a moment later as he swung his sword around to connect cleanly with the man’s neck, the blood spatter left red flecks over Ray and Jack. 

This was already _not_ going as planned.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again I think I really mucked up another chapter, but I've got chapter 7 mapped out so it _should_ be better. But anyway, hope you can still find it in your hearts not to despise me after this rubbish, and thanks for reading. ^-^

Michael heaved a heavy breath, his shoulders and chest moving together in a shifting beat along with his sprinting heart, there were more people than he knew what to do with, and it was coming to a point where he was beginning to wonder if Jack and Ray were in the right to be sitting out the fight; it all seemed a might pointless. The diamond sword clenched under white knuckles was visibly knackered as he made a wild slash at a young man trying to get the jump on him from above. 

His ears were filled with the sound of his own rushing blood, but past the opaque fog in his head he heard frenzied screams and pained, agonizing cries that filled the previously desolate and lifeless town with a rage-filled chaos. 

“Oi! Stop it!” He listened to Gavin screech from nearby. Michael glanced over to watch the green-clad man try in vain not to harm anyone else, the level of fear plastered over his face mixed with concerned ambivalence was clearly evident; he was tired of killing and was ready to call it quits. “I don’t wanna hurt you!” He exclaimed and struggled to pull himself onto the roof of one of the many shacks, nearly slipping, as the poor tiles were slick with inexplicable condensation. 

The Hunter only watched as Jack skidded to a halt on the roof and grabbed Gavin’s arm, but was not fast enough to heave him up in time to avoid a stray axe swinging across the rear of his left calf. He yelled out- a shrill sound that hurt Michael’s ears even from a distance, brought about by the paralyzing burn enveloping his leg. Jack heaved him up the rest of the way and dragged him back to where Ray was running over the roof to meet them, cautionary iron sword held just in case. 

Michael cut down at least five more assailants before he had the time to look over once again, noticing the thin rivulets of crimson blood slipping over and through the rifts and cracks in the roof’s tile; Gavin was still yelling out occasionally whenever the deep laceration was bumped or prodded at, and Jack had his arms trapped at his sides to prevent him from lashing out as Ray worked. The Hunter cursed silently, mumbled _’weakling’_ and continued his onslaught, giving a momentary thought as to how Geoff was doing. 

Geoff had his own problems. 

Most of them included the babble of teenagers that lunged at him with swords and knives, not fast enough to damage him past a few light scrapes, the fire in their otherwise lifeless eyes was disconcerting, and reminded the aging survivor too greatly of Michael. All his life until that point, Geoff had been careful to never think of Michael as anything more than a partner in surviving, never feel anything other than the traditional amount of kinsman ship- and not the annoying truth that was the parental affliction he seemed to have obtained.

In a gut-wrenching decision, Geoff closed his eyes and swung his mace blindly until the yelling subsided; and yet still he did not open his eyes until he was able to ignore the new spatters that lay warm on his arms and face. He’d never felt so sick to his stomach before. After a moment of strained breathing, he let out a few abrasive coughs into the temporary silence, attributing it to the chill, stinging air he breathed. 

Gavin kicked out again with his un-damaged leg and hit Ray right in the gut, sending the younger man keening for a fleeting moment. Ray returned to his place and gently lifted the green pant leg that lay in the way of the grievous injury, Gavin hissed, but Ray gave him a stern look and continued to investigate. 

The masked man let out his own sound of disapproving shock upon completely freeing the gash; Gavin struggled to relinquish Jack’s grip to no avail, “How bad is it?” Jack wondered, careful to keep his voice soft.

“Pretty bad, but manageable with time and rest.” Ray admitted; a fair bit of hope in his voice. 

The green-clad man wriggled again, “I can’t rest! There’s only a week until the winter months begin, an-and Joel said there’s a storm coming!” His voice was frenzied and panicked until Ray reached over and grabbed his face.

“Listen to me Archer, you need to relax and not strain yourself, you’ll make it worse. You can’t listen to everything Creators say; they’re liars, and cheats.” He growled with some honest venom in his tone. If he were honest with himself, he had a lot more to say about Creators, a lot more terrible, slanderous poison-laced things. But instead, he released his grip on Gavin’s face and returned his attention to his injured leg; he studied it for a moment, then made a face as he again shucked the pant leg out of the way; finally he got fed up and ripped the pant leg off from right below the knee. 

Surprisingly Gavin made no protest; odds are he was too preoccupied breathing heavily against the paroxysms of non-ignorable pain that ricocheted from his bleeding leg to the top of his head. A stray arrow shot up from below and clattered to the roofing tile less than a meter from Jack’s leg, but Ray was the one that flinched. “Not here, can’t do it here…can’t concentrate. Need to leave, go through the pass to the northern peak.” Ray mumbled, ripping a long strip from the hem of his white-buttoned shirt; he carefully scooted forward again and pulled the broadest part over the injury, received a momentary ear-lashing for the action, but continued on and tied it as gently as he could. 

Jack finally let go, and Gavin punched him right in the arm, though the ginger only chuckled half-apologetically and offered a hand, “There are springs in the mountains, Ray’s pretty determined that they have healing properties.” He pulled the Archer’s arm around himself to provide support.

“They do, it’ll help.” Ray turned and stepped closer, “Plus you know we need obsidian, the springs are heated by geothermal pockets underground, which means lava, which therefore means obsidian.” He explained in a rushed tone, quickened in pace by adrenaline and fear.

Gavin groaned quietly, “Why the bloody hell do you need obsidian?”

His question went ignored.

“I’m not thrilled about needing it dude, but what needs to be done needs to be done.” The Brewer pointed out very matter-of-fact.

Ray sighed, “I know, I’m not thrilled either; it sucks having to make the journey, but I’m totally not letting you go alone; and we’re really gonna need those healing potions.” He made an odd face at Gavin and them down at Michael and Geoff, “Yeah, we won’t make it over the western peak with this crew run-down as they are.” He straightened out his suit jacket and jogged to the tip of the house, vaguely noting the townsfolk struggling to climb up after him; he cursed quietly but climbed up the decrepit chimney to give himself another meter of height.

He took a deep breath and cupped his hands around his mouth, “Ramsey! Jones!”

Geoff turned for a second, turned back to knockout an elderly man, then proceeded to clumsily climb over a cart, a few stacked boxes, and finally climb onto a roof opposite of Ray, “What dude?” He yelled back.

“We need to leave, now.” He thought about it for a moment and decided saying; “Gavin’s hurt pretty badly.” Would be a convincing fact. 

He watched Geoff try to look around him to where Gavin was being held up by Jack, then replied, “Okay.” The armor-clad survivor looked around and then fixed his eyes on the rear of the town, and with a long sweeping arm he pointed towards it. “Get Gav there and we’ll get the fuck out. 1 minute.” Geoff turned and jumped down from the house and ran to tell Michael the plan; who seemed the exact opposite of happy when told they were leaving before the battle’s end. 

On his part, Ray nodded and pushed Jack and Gavin into gear, ushering his partner and injured companion over roofs and past crumbling chimney tops that puffed out rancid smog into their faces and slowed them down. The masked man listened carefully to the shouts of the people below them on the ground, knowing now that the yelling was that of anger and blind spite rather than the anguished cried that filled the area minutes before. 

“Hurry up, let’s go!” Suddenly Michael was next to them, running faster than them both as they were trying to keep Gavin comfortable.

Ray went to berate the brash order, but Jack knelt down and ushered Gavin onto his back, then straightening himself out and running a fair bit quicker than before. “You gonna be okay?” Ray wondered, straining just the slightest to keep up.

Jack nodded quickly, “Yeah,” He smirked, “He weighs about 10 pounds so yeah I’m good.”

The masked man let out a shuddered laugh, “Real lightweight huh?” He grinned when his partner nodded. 

Ahead of them on the roof of the previously visited throne room, the plaster tiles began to creak and crack, the struts began to bend upwards; from below them, the group listened to shouting, and the sound of splitting timber that grew gradually louder until the tiling shattered completely and someone flew up and through, landing with a dull thud behind them. 

Geoff physically pushed the group into motion again, “Move-move-move, let’s just get the fuck outta here!” He said and ran ahead with Michael, Jack just behind him, and Ray bringing up the back; cursing himself for behind such a terrible runner. Jack altered his course to avoid the new hole in the roof, but his masked companion took a deep breath and began working up the speed to clear it.

There was plenty of leeway to work up the speed, and Ray knew he’d have no problem with it; that was, until someone was in his way and he had to force his straining limbs into immediate acquiescence as the toe of his boots sat a few centimeters over the opening. He looked up to berate whoever stopped him, throw out a random curse and keep going, but something stopped him from doing so as he stared into the shadowed visage of the stranger from before; red cloak draped over his head and shoulders and hiding the whole of his body. 

However, there was enough light in the mid-morning hours to pick out the pale skin and strikingly sky blue eyes that caught the sun, Ray remained still for what seemed like forever, but was probably no more than 2 seconds, until the stranger before him recoiled (barely at all, but noticeably enough). “Narvaez?” 

It was Ray’s turn to be surprised when he pulled a step back and looked warily, “How-“ He began, but stopped when he glanced past the Creator at Jack and Gavin, who had since stopped and was staring worriedly back at him. He sighed, “On second thought; Idun’ wanna know.” Working up the will in his muscles again, he skittered around the whole in the roof and took off after his companions.

That was a lie; of course he wanted to fucking know. Someone knew his last name; no one knew his first, let alone his last name, he wasn’t famous or popular, or even that old, so how could the Creator…?

“You alright?” Jack wondered, keeping pace with him as they continued running. Ray nodded, but his mind was somewhere else, even as he helped his partner get Gavin over the rear fence. 

_._

Geoff and Michael were waiting for them at the mouth of the pass, staring down at a town, frantic, but not so as a fault to them, rather to stir-crazy cowards led by a mentally deranged lie that they did not have to sense to ignore or tell apart from what was right.

With a deep sigh of relief, Jack set Gavin down against a lone boulder and pulled himself away to stretch and pop the kinks from his back and shoulders. Interest provoked Geoff to kneel down and crane his neck to look at the laceration on the young archer’s leg, inhaling through his teeth audible, “ _Yikes_ dude that looks like it hurts.” He admitted.

Gavin nodded and gripped at his knee and back of his leg to try and alleviate the pain while not touching the cut itself; he breathed noisily through his nose, eyes screwed shut. The pain was overwhelming, but he noted it was slowly morphing into a dull throb and aching heat; which, he decided, might not have been a good sign, but he didn’t care, as long as it didn’t hurt so agonizingly anymore. 

“You suppose they’ll come after us?” Jack wondered quietly. 

“Don’t think so,” Michael spoke curtly, “If they ever had intelligence enough to leave, they would’ve done it long before we ever showed up.” He turned and walked to a short overhang just over the lip of the pass, looking out into the scattered trees that lay spotted over the yellowing grass of the shallow valley, one that ran back and up a steep slope of the next nearest mountain base where the grass turned brown and eventually was gone, replaced with rock and gravel.

In the ancient stone there were faint, paler lines indicating a little-used footpath that steeped along the rock face at a low angle; zigzagging up the mountain until the low clouds trapped amongst the peaks blocked the view and Michael could see the path no more. It was oddly serene, when one might expect the mountains to be the home of trolls and rockslides and bandits, where he stood, Michael saw nothing wrong with their current course, and maybe even looked forward to it. 

Geoff stepped up behind him and rested his elbow on the Hunter’s shoulder, standing silently to admire the view. 

Ray meandered over to where Jack stood with his eyes cast towards the two eldest of their posse, “You alright bud’?” He wondered, laying a gentle hand on the ginger’s back. 

There was a look of sickness on his face, but not that of the flu or a cold; Ray followed his gaze to exactly where he thought he’d been looking, at Geoff and Michael. It was only then that he realized the problem, and even began to feel exactly how Jack looked. Michael was standing so casually, like he had not just slaughtered dozens of innocent, practically defenseless people- and while just having _watched_ the carnage was weighing heavily on both Ray and Jack, the brown-clad survivor seemed little affected. 

Especially considering nearly the complete whole of his arms, face, and front was splattered and dripping with blood that _was not his_. He was not a clean fighter; that was easy enough to figure out, so that blood could have very well been from one unfortunate soul who happened to receive especially brutal treatment; though it was the way he was not repulsed, that _repulsed_ Jack and Ray.

Michael turned- the faintest hint of a grin on his face; he seemed very relaxed. He reached up and removed his goggles, showing off a clear line where the un-mucked area around his eyes met the beginning of bloody remnants. “Ready?” He wondered aloud. 

Three people gave him an odd look, “Gavin needs to get his leg fixed as soon as possible.” Jack pointed out. 

Michael shrugged, glaring down at the younger man, “He’ll be a burden like that,” He began, shifting his backpack and realigning his sword in its sheath. “We should leave ‘im.” 

“Wot!” Gavin exclaimed, which summed up everyone’s feelings quite well. Even Geoff looked oddly at his partner.

“Michael,” Geoff began, warning and dominance in his tone, his eyes were steely, “We’re not leaving him.” The eldest said sternly. 

With a discarding grimace, Michael huffed and turned on his heels, “Bring him then, but I’m not helping.” He trudged forward and peered over the top of the hill, “What path then? If we’re delaying our trip?” He demanded and stood with his arms crossed until Ray hesitantly came forward and looked around until he located the ill-used path far off to the left, to the north. He pointed and Michael shoved past him, “Alright, fine.” Michael nearly shouted. 

Jack, having been kneeling by Gavin, stood up and jogged after him for a moment, stopping on the small overhang, “Mogar,” He knew hearing the title would momentarily state any desire to continue with his infantile tantrum. Sure enough the Hunter stopped and turned his head, “Don’t be dumb. Winter is coming, it’ll be cold, especially so in the mountains.” Jack explained.

Somewhat concernedly Michael looked down at his arms below his shoulders, bare except for elbow and arm guards, and then down at his exposed legs. Perhaps Jack had a point. “Well what do you suppose we do?” He asked gruffly. 

It was Geoff’s turn to step up, “Hey, we could-“ He let out a sudden and loud couple of coughs, “Wait a bit, go back to the Tal von Schmerz and raid them for any extra furs.” 

Ray scoffed, “As if we haven’t done enough already.”

Geoff shrugged, “Take ‘em from the people we killed.” He said casually.

“Jesus christ Ramsey.” Jack scoffed and returned to Gavin’s side.

“What? Everyone there is crazy anyway!” Geoff argued, and then followed it with a cough.

“They’re still people!” Ray intervened, fist tight at his sides.

Then Gavin spoke up, “Oy, idiots!” Everyone turned to look at him, “Oi can’t feel my bloody leg, and if I’m gonna be going through the goddamn mountains with a fucked-up leg; I’m at least gonna be warm!” He shouted. 

Wildly, he pointed at the brown-clad hunter, “Micool, you go with Ray. Keep him safe, and get enough fur to outfit everyone.” He demanded, seemingly very proud of himself. 

Michael _hmph’d_ and crossed his arms, “Where do you get off telling me what to do.” But his complaint went ignored by all. 

“Perhaps I should go instead,” Jack spoke directly to Gavin, “Ray can stick around and watch ya’.” He offered, fingering the potions sat in their holders along his bandolier.

“I got it Jack,” Ray cut-in, smiling comfortingly when his friend turned to look at him, “It’ll be fine.” He knelt down next to the two and dug into his knapsack, tossing out a bundle of dry sticks, a few crumpled shirts, an empty glass bottle- which Jack made a face at and picked up and placed in the empty slot on his bandolier. Finally he more carefully began laying some slightly dirtied medical dressings out along with a small, but visibly dulled razor and some makeshift wooden tweezers. 

Gavin eyed it all warily and scooted himself more upwards-seated against the rock, and continued to look a tad uncomfortable even as Ray began talking with Jack about the best way to go about cleaning and dressing his injury. 

Standing nearby, Geoff ushered Michael to a slight overhang and was stood leaning against the rock face; they were talking quietly about something-or-other, Gavin could not quite tell from where he sat, but if the way Michael was throwing dirty looks his way was any sort of indication, it must not have been a very happy topic.

His leg was beginning to hurt again, which he supposed was a good sign, as long as he could feel it then his leg would be fine eventually; right? He ground his teeth together and shifted his leg around uncomfortably, digging his heels into the dirt; but nothing he did would keep the burn from seeping from his calf to his thigh and hip. The daunting task of climbing a mountain did not seem like a pleasant one. He listened to Geoff begin coughing again, for a few seconds before he quieted again; and Gavin determined they’d be incredibly lucky if they made it up the northern face with their good health (which was testy enough to begin with).


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12:10 am on Friday; time for an update. Heyo, so, I'm feeling much better and much more in the mood to write, but I do still have school work so I only got this chapter and half of the next done, but hopefully i can write throughout the day and post the bonus chapter by midnight. Thank you for your support and concern it really means a lot, I hope you enjoy. 8)

Jack fell right onto his ass once again, holding the new sore spot on his shoulder. From in front of him, someone made a disapproving sound, “Gavin-!” Geoff glared. 

The young man whined, “Sorry! Sorry, it hurts!” He argued his point and ground his teeth to prepare himself as Jack moved back to his afflicted leg again, lifting it up and resting Gav’s ankle on his shoulder. Again the young man cringed, “Are you sure you know wot, you’re doing?” He wondered.

While carefully laying a heated cloth on the open gash, heated after being laid out in the sparse heat of the near-noon sun, he spared a careful glance at the injured man, “A few years ago Ray fell while we were climbing, his right leg and arm were scrapped to sunders and he still has scars.” Gavin yelled out when the cloth dipped just a bit into the raw, exposed part of his injury, “Another time both Ray and myself had to waddle around like ducks because he took an arrow, and a zombie bit me right on the leg; no running for a solid 3 days until we healed.” Jack chuckled, “So yes, Gav, I know what I’m doing.” Where the young man expected malice or annoyed indifference, he was met with reassurance, and smiled warmly, feeling slightly better. 

“You and Ray h’ve gone through a lot, huh?” Geoff wondered, leaning back against the rock next to Gavin, his eyes close. 

A shrug was his immediate response. “I guess,” He put down the cloth and pulled a potion from his bandolier, made a face at it, then placed it back before pulling out another one, which he nodded approvingly at. “A lot can happen in 11 years.” With a careful hand he got a new cloth and splashed the shimmering magenta-colored liquid onto it, from there he gently dabbed Gavin’s wound, trying his best to both not hurt him further, and keep his leg forced down. 

In the quiet, Geoff coughed, then made an odd sound, “I thought you said Ray was 11.” He pointed out, genuinely discontented. 

Jack continued working and pulled out strips of white fabric, most likely meant to simulate medical gauze, and threw a wary look at Gavin, who clenched his teeth and nodded, so the ginger began carefully wrapping the injury. “He is.” Jack admitted nonchalantly, wondering why the information was in question considering he’d just been told a day prior. 

“So you’ve known him since the day he was created?” Geoff wondered innocently. 

Jack nodded, handing Gavin a water bottle and having him drink it all, only a bit missing his mouth and landing on his shirt and scarf. After he had successfully downed the majority of the glass, Gavin whipped his mouth on the back of his bare arm and burrowed himself down against the rock, breathing in-and-out deeply to help ignore the searing pain now tickling the wound on his leg.

_._

Ray pressed his back against the wall, apparently trying to become one with the shoddy woodwork around him; he was the perfect burglar, patient and silent (not exactly deadly, but that’s what the Hunter was there for). His fingers traced the nicks and dents in the wall as he scooted along, listening and waiting until he heard nothing; which was taking longer than expected. 

He peaked out from behind the edge of the wall into the open throne room, and just turning the corner caused the rancid air to smack him right in the face and send him keening, struggling against his own biochemistry to not throw up the well-eaten fish dinner they had the previous night. That’s when it dawned on him that in less than 24 hours of leaving for the mountains, they’d essentially been through all manner of shit, and he was currently trying to steal furs from dead townspeople and their (most likely dead) king. The masked man heaved a hefty sigh and continued his current path, only stopping when he heard a clanging coming from the other room; he tensed and pressed himself impossibly closer to the wall.

The noise only lasted a few more seconds before there was a sickening _squelch_ followed by a dull thud and a nearby door being suddenly nudged open. Ray looked over hesitantly and saw an arm was what nudged the door open, and now it lay motionless just slightly through the doorway. It was eerie for the couple seconds it took for there to be any other sounds that weren’t Ray’s labored breathing and the echoes of death.

Michael poked his head out through the doorway moments later, a fresh flecking of blood over the drying red blanket he’d acquired earlier that day, his diamond sword, having been cleaned before they returned, was bloody again and hung ready at his side. “Ray?” He called in a loud whisper. 

With a silent breath of relief, but yet still sickness churning his stomach, Ray stepped out of his hiding place hesitantly, looking all around and trying to ignore the scattered corpses that lay cut-down at his feet. “Find them?” He wondered quietly. 

Michael nodded, and motioned with his sword to the opposite side of the throne room where a seemingly un-touched oak door sat waiting to be opened, “The guy told me the _’royal furs’_ as they call ‘em, are in there.” He smirked triumphantly and began to stride forward. However Ray remained unmoved, and looked back to the lifeless form half-hanging out of the door, before he turned back forward and jogged to catch up.

“So why’d you kill him?” He asked with a hint of anger in his tone. “Have we not done enough?” 

Michael shrugged, “What’s one more?”

Ray had to physically hold his middle to keep himself from purging; anger and the smell of death were not easing his nervous stomach.

Opening the door, there was no one in sight, so Ray jumped into action, rummaging through the heaps of furs, which were surprisingly soft and well-kept considering the state of everything else. Most of them were spruce or dirt colored, browns and dark greys that came from wolves and mountain lions of sorts; and he was not about to lie to himself, Ray felt like jumping head first into the fluffy pile. And just maybe he would do exactly that if he were with Jack, not Michael, who would probably slit his throat just for goofing off. 

Although they were in a hurry, Ray found himself lackadaisically sifting through the different hues and textures of furs, taking out the more unique whites for Jack to match his elbow, knee, and shoulder armor, choosing the auburn-y browns for Michael, blacks for himself and Geoff , and a few spare regular browns for Gavin.

“Hey kid, lookit,” Michael called.

“What is it?” Ray wondered aloud, putting what he’d gotten into his satchel, “And don’t call me kid.” Over where the Hunter stood there was a bin labeled _”Faulty Furs”_ but had been crossed-out and re-labeled _”Furs for the Help”_ obviously a ploy by former King Heyman to pass off the worse of the furs so he would not have to give up his own. Michael reached in and tugged out a big bundle of furs and a bit of hide, all dyed a pale green. “Hah, I guess something went wrong in the wash.” Ray laughed and ran a hand over the fur, which was still just as plush as the others despite its queer color. 

“I think Gavin will appreciate this.” Michael pointed out and turned Ray around to stuff the green material away in the backpack before nudging the younger man out the door. “Now let’s get the fuck outta here. Before I have to…kill…” Michael’s voice trailed away, and Ray stopped his new, quick gait to turn and see why his companion had stopped.

Nothing appeared to be wrong, not physically anyway, but the Hunter’s gaze was fixed on the wall where a few childlike scrawls lay out like ancient cave paintings. Carefully Ray stepped next to Michael and touched his shoulder delicately, “You okay Jones?” The other jerked away and turned his back, standing motionless and breathing shakily. 

It was only then that Ray stopped to really look at the paintings, seeing one reoccurring familiar form with a brown pelt and blue goggles. Even formed with crude lines and vibrant, unrealistic colors, the brown figure was clearly ravaging a town, one that did not look unlike der Tal von Schmerz, a blue stick (clearly a sword) wielded viciously as he cut down other stick figure person, cherry red coloring splattered all over the wall. The final image was the brown figure being chased away by an angry mob of people, which was no more than a smudged grey blob with vague drawings of torches and pitchforks emerging from it. 

At the bottom there was a line of chicken-scratch that Ray could just barely make out, “We were fine umt- _until_ the time…when-“

“ _’When the Hunter killed his kind.’_ ” Michael mumbled, ramming his fist into the wall hard enough to draw blood from his exposed, and now torn, knuckles. Ray grabbed his wrist and plucked away the splintering wood stuck into the bloody mess of his hand, but Michael did nothing, merely let his hand hang limp in the other’s hold. “Dammit…” He mumbled, suddenly clenching his fists and forcing renew rivulets of blood over his fingers. Annoyed and frenzied, Ray grabbed the Hunter’s black bandolier and shook him, surprisingly receiving no backlash. 

“Hey hey hey, idiot what’s wrong with you?” The masked man asked aloud, beginning to pull them both back towards the exit so they could leave, only to be jerked still and forced to look at the drawings again.

Michael growled lowly, “You see that? _That’s_ me! Killing my own people! My family, my friends! Just murdering them for _no goddamn reason!_ ” He screamed. At the time, Ray was trying to be worried about being caught by someone, but the fear of being held in a painful vice-grip by Jones was enough for him to cast that particular concern aside and focus on not freaking out. “That Creator…I knew I knew him from somewhere…” His tone was more contemplative now than accusing, and slowly he released Ray, beginning to pace restlessly. 

There were a few flurried voices and panicked footsteps from somewhere else in the throne room, Ray held his breath and grabbed Michael again, “Look, whatever happened in your past, it doesn’t matter, you’re right here, right now.” He remembered vaguely saying the same thing to Jack on multiple occasions to calm him from a nightmare or other such occasion. “We have to go, c’mon, we _have to go_.” He was near pleading when Michael finally worked his way towards the door quickly, working up his speed which soon turned into a sprint once he cleared the doorway.

Ray sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep up, “Jones!” He called out in vain, watching the retreating brown form jump the back fence and keep running. 

But Michael could have cared less about how fast he was running, or how he’d probably get an earful from Jack for leaving his _precious little partner_ toddling along behind him; that didn’t matter. What mattered to him was the wind pressing against his face, stinging cold giving him an explanation for the tears in his eyes, and the way his feet met with the ground with each footfall and propelled im that much faster _away_ from something he’d always been running from. 

Because Mogar was _afraid_.

Afraid of a lie he’d been unable to prove otherwise as a younger man, afraid that- after all these years- it would turn out that it wasn’t a lie, afraid of his past; afraid of himself. His brain pounding against his skull and arms pumping hard enough to make them ache; his legs were not working in unison, choppy steps meeting the ground and causing him to nearly trip multiple times. 

He sprinted past their awaiting companions and jumped off the raised edge of the boulder he’d been standing on earlier that day, and only stopped when he felt his right knee give way under his weight when he hit the ground too hard. He tucked into a clumsy ball and rolled down the incline a ways before skidding to a halt and not moving. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, having overexerted himself over the mile distance between him and the town; his legs hurt, as did his arms, and his chest beginning to ache from inhaling so harshly. He knew he’d be fine, but he was dizzy and physically exhausted by the time figures started to appear in his line of sight and voices began fading from his ears. Things went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also if you didn't know and ever want to chat or anything really, my tumblr is whoseyourbadcop.tumblr.com and I blog all sorts of fandoms including a good bit of ah/rt so hit me up if you'd like ^-^  
> I hope the chapter wasn't horrible.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow holy shit it's 11:30 I almost forgot to update.  
> Anyway here's this chapter, I don't think it's the best but I'm trying to set up some stuff so I wouldn't worry too much if I were you.

Geoff smirked as he looked over at Michael again, still unconscious and carried on Jack’s back, looking angry even in sleep; the Hunter moved just slightly, face pressed against the soft white fur collar they fitted for Jack. Again Geoff shuffled the packs on his back, trying to find a more comfortable placement to compensate for the extra weight; but he still supposed it was better than having to carry someone. 

“Sorry Ray.” Gavin mumbled again, hands gripping at the black and somewhat red furs that lined the masked man’s suit jacket. But the youngest shrugged and smiled good-naturedly, expressing his contentment with being Gav’s personal carriage, making more than just a few jokes about it.

They quietly worked their way up the gradually increasing incline that was the northern mountain pass, struggling with their incapacitated companions whenever they came across a bit of cliff that needed to be scaled. That process came to be a matter of Jack and Ray getting Michael up before helping Gavin along since _he_ could still use his arms and one leg; of course Geoff was very little help aside from hauling the gear that was bestowed on him. As he stood and waited for Ray to pull Gavin up- he tugged at the downy padding fur underneath his green armor pieces, discontented with the way it felt. He got his hand swatted at, “Don’t fuck with it; it needs to stay in place.” Ray chastised. 

Geoff groaned, “It’s uncomfortable.” He sounded particularly whiny in that instance. 

“Give it time, the fibers will form to your frame after a while, it’ll be more comfortable and it will keep ya’ warm. As the temperature drops, you’re gonna need it.” Ray explained, turning his gaze from Geoff, down to Michael who was propped against the rock face, and finally up at the wisp-like clouds that hid the northern mountain peak behind their bulk. It was a daunting sight to behold, especially knowing they had to make their way up there; and looking down he came to the claustrophobic reality that was the fact they were already above the bottom cloud level. The entire rest of the world was a misty grey except for the brown and slate-colored rocks that were visible right in front of him. He subconsciously moved his hand to the rock to ground himself and Geoff noticed the moment of unnoticed insecurity in the younger man’s eyes. 

After a moment, Geoff followed his gaze, which was notably concerned, and looked around at the encircling clouds, not at all bothered by it, but rather drawing a strange comfort from the compacted view. 

“Uh, guys-“ Gavin called out, and Ray turned to see Gavin struggling to hold onto Jack’s hands, and Jack struggling to get a grip on Gavin’s arms. Geoff smirked but Ray rushed over, first tugging his partner back to be less precariously perched, then grabbing the Archer’s brown bandolier and hauling him up. His knees skidded against the ground, scrapping up his ill-damaged kneepads, until he came to rest, in-taking sharply when his calf muscles relaxed and the pain in his left leg came shooting up his entire body. “ _Ghsh-!_ ” He hissed and grabbed the back of his knee. 

The temporary bandaging was absorbing the refreshed flow of blood from the wound, weighing down the thin, white material and suctioning it to his leg. Semi-clear rivulets of blood flowed from beneath the bandage and down his exposed leg until it dripped into his boot. “Easy kid.” Jack eased him back up, taking most of the smaller man’s weight.

Gavin let out a huff of laughter past the pain, “I’m older than you, who do ya’ think you’re calling ‘kid’?” The other three smiled at that.

_._

“How…” Gavin began dizzily, his head lolling against Jack’s shoulder for just a moment before he shook himself back up, “How much further.” His voice was weak and his eyes were droopy; Jack looked worried, then reached back and pressed the back of his palm against the Archer’s forehead, and even through his gloves he felt the unnatural heat there. 

In front of them both Geoff had his third coughing fit in the past hour, the force of coughing into his hand rattled everything he was hauling; swords clanging together, buckets shuffling noisily up against the spare wood. One of the shovels slipped from its clip and clattered to the rock at their feet. He was going to leave it until a shaky hand rested itself on his shoulder and held him in place while the shovel was returned to the holder. 

Michael grinned weakly at him, “Hang in there man.” He reassured. 

Re-situating the packs and materials on his back, the eldest nodded his thanks and slapped a quick hand on the furry tuffs on Michael’s shoulder, contented with continuing. That is until the Hunter, no matter how drained he sounded, made an odd noise until Geoff looked back over and saw the younger survivor looking worriedly to-and-from him and a pale red handprint on his shoulder armor. Looking down at his hand, Geoff found a fair splattering of blood. 

Michael opened his mouth but was cut off, “I’m fine, don’t say anything.” The Boss urged in a hushed whisper, one with which Michael was not going to argue. 

“Guys,” Jack called, worry evident in his voice. Turning back, the eldest two saw Jack and Ray stopped and inspecting Gavin, hands checking his forehead, Ray listening to his heartbeat (which was quite erratic for someone who hadn’t been walking, but Ray did not say that to anyone but Jack). “He’s burning up.” The ginger proclaimed, looking concerned. 

Gavin forced himself to lift his head from Jack’s shoulder, and already he was ready to rest it again, “M’fine, my leg just really, really hurts now.” He said pathetically. 

“His immune system must be failing him.” Geoff pointed out, wiping his hand on his pant leg. He dumped the luggage off his back and hurried over, ushering Jack to kneel so he could pry the Archer off his back; he sat back with Gavin going lucidly along with him, limbs unmoving and head lolling back onto this shoulder once they stilled. With frenzied caution Geoff removed the used bandages and tossed them aside, _tsk’ing_ at the sight of the wound; it had not been cleaned properly and still had pieces of earth stuck in it, the muscles were visibly contracting and forcing more blood and grotesque yellow puss out to the skin, which was completely reddened around the gash. Accidentally his fingers barely grazed the edge of the wound and Gavin let out a pained screech, hands tightening into fists, one clasping onto the armor over Geoff’s thigh- making small dents where his fingernails dug into the leather. 

In haste, Geoff took hold of Gavin’s upper leg to keep him from thrashing about, taking the brunt of his bony elbows and violently swinging shoulders. “ _Shh_ , Gav, my bad buddy. It’s okay, it’s okay, we’re almost at the peak.” The eldest promised in a hushed whisper until the Archer could quell his thrashing frame.

It was a few more minutes until Geoff felt Gavin stop trembling, and the weak, occasional sobs died out for good and he was left sitting lifelessly up against Geoff. 

Off towards the edge of the pathway, Michael was looking off to the east, further into the mountains where he saw a noticeably looming wall of grey and white that remained skidding barely a few meters above the bottom of the valleys below. A frigid gust of winter wind blew up from below and caught his hood, flipping off his head and subjecting his mess of curly, blood-matted brown hair to the assault. Even beneath the furs covering his previously exposed arms and legs, his skin was raised with goose bumps, but there was a faint heat on his face that was relieved by the chill. 

Ray turned his head upwards just in time to feel a cool few specks drop onto the tip of his nose; a few white flecks stuck to the eye-rims of his mask and allowed him to look closely at the crystalized structure that soon disappeared with another burst of wind. With a steady palm he touched Jack’s arm, “Hey,” He kept his voice soft, not daring to disturb the somewhat unsettling silence that was keeping everything still, “Look.” There was the faintest hint of a smile that covered his face, and Jack’s as well. 

The snow began to fall harder, now; creating a white layering over the black furs on his shoulders and around his collar. Offhandedly Jack wiped it away for him and stared at the clouds for a moment, not at all pleased with how the pale grey, almost white wisps were now becoming dark. He then strode over to the pile of pack’s that Geoff dropped and grabbed the handle of his favorite pickax; he began to chip away at the side of the rock face, quickly making the beginnings of a cave entrance. 

“What’re you doing Jack? We have to keep going.” Michael had to shout to be heard over the raising octaves of wind whistling by them. 

Ray spoke up, “In this weather?” He began, “Gavin can’t walk, you’re delirious and fatigued, and I think Ramsey is coming down with something too.” His voice sounded nervous and shaky even above the wind. 

“A better reason to keep moving!” Despite his dreary state, Michael’s voice was beginning to regain the angered spite it had on any ordinary day. “Listen,” He starts, stepping closer to the two as the winds changed from a whistle to a roar and the white began to swirl so opaquely before their eyes that it was near impossible to see. “If these goddamn springs of yours do exist, and if they do work, then we need to get to them!” His argument was valid, but Ray could only admit that it was foolhardy and dangerous. 

His mind drifted, as it normally did in stressful situations, to the past: to him thinking he’d lost Jack in the woods that first year they were together, and the big relieved smile he got when he set eyes on the newly familiar ginger mop poking through the dense forest. He remembers the air being warm and the grass being soft as they sat down to eat, unlike the ice beating against his mostly exposed features up high on that mountain; he tries to remember meeting that Burnie fellow Jack knew, and all the stories he told about the mysterious _End_ , and even how _completely **not** jealous_ he’d been seeing Jack and Burnie acting like such good friends. 

_”Something wrong?” He turns to see a mess of stringy brown hair sat on top of a thin face and wide eyes. Ray is confused but feels oddly contented with this person, like how he feels with Jack. But there is something depressing and inexplicably morose about seeing this face, this person. The light is a warm orange, but it’s too bright whenever he looks around to get his bearings; the words filter through his ears slower than the boy’s mouth moves before him._

_He is asked another question, but he cannot place it; letters assault his mind, he touches his temples to try and alleviate the pain- he cannot feel the edges of his masks, he’s not wearing it: he always wears his mask. “Caleb…” He does not realize he spoke until the words are already out. The young man turns to him with a big smile, “Why did you go? Why did you d…ie…?” The last word is caught in his throat; he doesn’t know why that hurts so much to say, he doesn’t even know this kid. But said kid, Caleb, doesn’t seem to hear his question, merely smiles and lets out a quiet laugh before turning away. “Wait…please…”_

_But again, Caleb smiles and turns away, walking slowly into the failing orange glow, and try as he might, Ray cannot keep up_ and found himself entrapped by a vortex of white and grey. Jack was in his field of view, snow clotting onto his beard, he kept repeating, “Come back, Ray, now is not a good time for this.” And unlike in his prior state, the voice came across loud and clear, as did the whipping winds and clanging of metal-against-metal from Geoff’s packs.

Jack was practically walking for Ray by the time they reached an alcove where they could take a breather and be mostly hidden from the wind and snow; he was worried, having seen his partner go into this state before, he knew what to expect; but this was not something he expected. Ray was staring straight ahead, tears were falling from his eyes but there was no other movement or emotion evident. For years they had tried, together, to determine the source of the state, the common denominator being how Ray dealt with stressful situations: retreating into his mind, to positive memories, which Jack was honored to be informed that he was a major part of. 

When he was frightened; this happened, and he was usually frightened by his past, by not knowing what to do or how to handle something. The feeling of helplessness made Ray’s subconscious panic and recess, and so far that’s all Jack understood; not how to bring him back. He heard Michael cursing at them, not out of the usual, so he ignored it and held Ray’s ice-trimmed face between his hands, “C’mon bud’ you gotta come back to me now.” He ushered quietly, letting all other sound fade out for just a few moments.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lemme just say when it's crunch time I can really write fast. This is about a 3 thousand word update and this morning i only had maybe 1500 from the past week, oops. Anyway I hope you enjoy 8)

Gavin woke up shaking, his hands trembling against the fur and pads on Jack’s shoulders; there were ice crystals laying over his fingers, freezing them in place until he could jerk his arm enough to free himself, only to find that there was a healthy coating of snow along the crook of his shoulder that made it difficult to move. The wind was howling in his ears but he did not feel anything, it was only after a few minutes that he realized that wasn’t a good thing; he mindlessly lifted a hand to caress his own cheek, and felt nothing in either his face or his fingers. 

He breathed out shakily, his breath condensing into fog as soon as it touched the air, his teeth clattered together and his core began to shake; it was then that Jack turned his head, his face mostly covered by his grey scarf, his eyes were squinted but they widened upon seeing Gavin. “Hey Gav, I was getting worried.” Jack yelled over the storm. It was terribly obvious he was straining to keep his tone friendly; he sounded exhausted.

Ahead of them, barely visible through the snow, Geoff stopped and waited for them, smiling as best he could when he saw Gavin squirming around on the ginger’s back. “Good to see you’re awake. I’m not gonna lie I thought we had Jack carrying a corpse.” He shouted and continued forward. 

“I told you I feel him breathing.” Jack persisted, struggling over a particularly deep clump of icy slush.

Ray then appeared and put a hand on his partner’s shoulder, “Well I can’t feel anything so less chatter more walking.” Without shouting only Jack and Gavin really heard him, but his advice was dually noted and the Architect quickened his pace as best he could. 

Incapacitated and without feeling, Gavin had little to focus on other than counting the puffs of fog that came from his mouth that were all quickly lost in the white flurry, but he quickly got bored of that; and his brain was too foggy for math. However it seemed as though he was okay with thinking about other things, in fact almost immediately he began imagining the summers back in the city, all the kids waking up at the crack of dawn to play baseball before it heated up and they worked their way to the river. The chilly glacial water felt so good against his skin as the sun beat down on them; like any other July day.

He was torn out of his daydreaming when Jack jerked to a stop, and Michael began mumbling loudly about something, so he shifted himself just enough to peak over Jack’s shoulder and into the storm. “Wot’s wrong?” He asked weakly, and truth be told he could barely hear his own voice above the wind, so he tries again, “Jack.” He had to force his voice to be loud and it cracked under the strain, but it paid off when the ginger turned his head again to look at him, “Wot’s going on?” He wondered. Offhandedly he wished the furs on Jack’s shoulders weren’t coated with ice, they would provide a nice place to rest his head. 

“There’s a bridge. Geoff, Ray, and Michael are arguing about how to get across.” Jack explained, backing up to a shallow overhang that provided the slightest bit of cover from the storm, an action which Gavin silently thanked him for. With gentle hesitation Jack lowered the injured man and settled him against the wall, though not without feeling the freeze of his poorly covered arms, “You should’ve used more of the fur…” Jack mumbled quietly and reached for his pack, tugging out some dark brown furs from there. Curiously Gavin kept his head up to watch what the younger survivor was doing; pulling the fur in different directions, using what, he assumed, was a needle and thread or something of the like, to sew ends together. Again he moved for his bag but instead of fur he pulled out a long bit of dyed green fabric and sewed that to the underside of one of the edges of fur.

Right as Gavin was about to inquire as to what exactly he was doing, Jack returned to his immediate side and sat him up enough to slip something on over his head to rest on his shoulders and upper arms, already he felt warmer, and he reached a hand out to touch the thick, green fabric that seemed to be acting as a cape. He looked to-and-from Jack and his new garment, a weak smile decorated his face; Jack planted a firmly gentle hand on his back, “You’re about the same size as Ray in the shoulders so it seems, good thing to cos I suck at making alterations.” Jack chuckled, and Gavin laughed just a bit.

Out of the snow, ice, and wind, a figured appeared in the form of Geoff, green armor iced over and unrecognizably white; he jogged over to Gavin and tugged him up, slinging an arm over his shoulder, not without eliciting a pained groan from the younger man, “We need to get a move on, we’re going to go one at a time over the bridge, Gavin is first; Ray will accompany him since they’re both weigh the least.” Geoff explained as they reached the mouth of the bridge. It was easy enough for Jack to hide his fearful recoil behind his scarf and the surrounding storm.

Ray greeted them kindly and took Gavin’s weight with care, mumbling an apology for making him walk, “Please be careful.” Jack said quietly, taking Ray’s backpack from him all the while looking more than scared. 

Even fatigued and freezing, Ray grinned, “Aren’t I always?” He pointed out semi-sarcastically, and then took the first careful steps onto the rickety wooden bridge.

A few meters out, things got deathly silent, the wind was not roaring so much, the snow fell almost vertically instead of every-which-ways, and even though they were suspended more than a kilometer up, it was relatively peaceful. Beneath their feet the wood planks were frayed and worn, some were missing and it took a bit of work getting Gavin and his bum leg over the gaps; at one point, Ray lost his footing trying to balance himself and Gavin, and his heel got jammed into a particularly awkward gap in the wood. “ _Ghh-!_ ” He ground his teeth together and accidentally dug his fingers into his companion’s arms. “Fffuck!” Only after forcefully yanking his foot free could they begin walking again, Ray with a new and obvious limp in his left leg.

After seeing Gavin’s concerned expression, Ray grinned, “Still not as fucked up as you are.” But the Archer couldn’t find it in him to smile or laugh at the attempted poke at their condition, he now felt incredibly guilty; if hadn’t been there Ray would have never hurt himself. 

He tilted his head down and tried summon the strength to support himself more even on his lacerated leg. A few more meters across and the wind was picking back up, which they both took as an indication that they were nearing the other side. “Hey,” Ray muscled out, noticeably strained, “When’d ya’ get a cape? We’re twinning now.” He laughed, trying his very best to get his friend to lighten up, not a big fan of holding grudges or letting other people feel bad about something that couldn’t be helped.

“Hey so, w...what was that, back there?” Gavin asked hesitantly, struggling to keep his gait steady. “You spaced out, I listened to Jack talk to you; you’ve done it before, what is it?” Perhaps he was being a bit nosey but that was not completely out of character for the Archer, regardless of the fact that he wanted to keep conversation to keep from passing out. 

Ray sighed and slowed just a bit, “I uh…” There was a long pause in which Ray’s gaze did not deviate from the bridge laid out before them, and he focused intently on his steps, wishing suddenly the bridge would snap just so he didn’t have to answer the question. “I’ve got bad amnesia, er…something like it.” He looked up at the other mountains that he could see faintly through the storm, anything to avoid looking at Gavin, “Memories of people and places that don’t quite fit and I can’t quite place.” His voice sounded so meek compared to his normally exuberant tone, and he looked… _sad_. “That’s what I was going to tell you the other day, I couldn’t work up the guts to really say anything.” 

“Jack calm down.” Geoff chastised, arms crossed and back turned against the stinging wind as they waited. To-and-fro before him, Jack was pacing and pretending like he was keeping his body in motion to prevent from shutting down, Michael was antsy as well, but more so from pent up anger, and that was only made worse by watching the ginger survivor pacing. 

The wind had since died down just a bit, and Michael swore that if he focused hard enough on the white sheet before them that he could see a slowly disappearing blob that was Ray and Gavin, but he was waiting more eagerly for the call for more people to cross. His mind was fading in and out, thinking about the paintings at _der Tal von Schmerz_ , thinking about his past that he’d tried so hard to hide but yet…He growled low in his throat and punched the nearest rock face, incidentally tearing open the frozen gashes on his knuckles and making them bleed again.

“Hey come on over!” Michael heard Ray’s voice over the storm and turned to Geoff and Jack (the latter now looking much more relaxed). 

“Alright I’ll go, then Jack, then you Geoff, that work?” The Hunter listed and received two confident nods in response. Michael turned to the opening of the bridge and took a deep breath, “I’ll go quick, just be ready.” Then turned and speed-walked onto the bridge and through the swirling snow. 

Like Gavin and Ray before him, Michael was surprised and oddly at peace around the middle of the bridge, where he could see the sky just a bit and the snow was falling peacefully onto his shoulders instead of whipping him in the face; however that was done with all too quickly as he re-entered the blanket an felt the ice on his skin, thankfully though, he saw the end of the bridge where two dark blobs waited for him. He greeted Ray, not caring why he was clutching at his ankle, “Jack’s coming over next, then Geoff.” He said matter of fact and sent a call back over the gap.

It was a couple minutes when they saw a figured walking towards them, there was a swagger in the shadow’s stride that Michael was all-too familiar with, and he was momentarily confused; and it was a loud coughing fit that confirmed his suspicions. “Geoff, I thought Jack was next…” Michael began.

The eldest shrugged, “He insisted I go first.” He coughed and stepped over to kneel by Gavin. Even though he _was_ annoyed that they didn’t follow his order, Michael sighed and called out for Jack to come over. 

“I’m sure you’re angry Jones,” Jack’s voice came out of the snow a few minutes later along with an approaching dark spot in the snow, “Sorry I just felt bad leaving Geoff, he was hacking up a storm.” His bright colored hair was now visible, and Ray smiled knowing his partner was okay and that they were all going to be-

There was a crackling sound and Jack froze in his tracks, Ray listened to the tell-tale sound of strained wood beginning to splinter, but it was an echo of something farther off; Jack turned and glared back through the storm at the posts on the other side, where they came from, where the ropes of the bridge were tied up. No one moved, they hardly breathed, and Jack could not deicde weather to stay still or run.

Ray made the decision for him as the newly injured man shot to his feet, “Run Jack!” And he did, there was a solid 8 meters between Jack and the solid rock of the mountain, and he did his very best to outrun the failing boards and ropes, losing his footing more than once; his breathing was deafening in his ears, the same Ray’s heartbeat threatened to send the organ through his chest. It looked like it was going to be fine though, when Jack was less than a couple meters from the rocks, Ray ran (hobbled) forward to greet him, and Michael was running up behind him. The last bit of the bridge failed just before the Architect reached the end; Ray practically threw himself off the cliff as he reached out and grabbed his partner’s outspread arms. 

“Hang on man, I got you!” Ray yelled, his eyes sprinkled lightly with fearful tears. Watching the younger man precariously knelt on the side of the cliff, knees gradually scooting forward in the snow; Michael skidded to a halt behind him and grabbed him around the middle and pulled with all his strength, hauling the weights of someone completely dependent and another who at least had some kind of grip on the ground. 

There was a small jerk and Ray gasped quietly, “Hold on man!” He said, voice cracking under the stress. Through gritted teeth, Michael grunted out more than a few curses as he strained his muscles to pull the two up; he felt Geoff run over and grab the back of his bandolier and begin to pull, not a huge help in the grand scheme of things, but it did provide the Hunter with some slight leverage so he left well enough alone. 

With a final heave, Geoff and Michael had both Jack and Ray up on the ice and snow covered rocks, all four breathing harshly, one significantly more than the others. Ray shot up almost instantly and threw his arms around Jack, and the ginger did the same with some degree of hesitation, his chest still beating furiously. “I’m sorry,” Jack mumbled out, rubbing his partner’s back with a shaky hand. “I’m sorry bud’.” His voice was drained and faded out by the end of the sentence before he let out a heavy breath and slumped against Ray.

Of course the masked man could not help but be worried, grabbing Jack’s face and trying to shake him awake, that is until Michael stepped over and jerked the ginger off his lap and inspected his condition, prying back his eyelids, pressing his index and middle finger to the crook of his neck before standing up and pulling Jack with him, “He passed out from the looks of it.” Michael stated mechanically, brushing the snow from his hood and arms. 

“Wouldn’t blame him; that was a near death experience if I’ve ever seen one.” Geoff added in, helping Ray to his feet then proceeding to cough profusely for at least 15 seconds. 

It took a fair bit of situating but Michael hefted Jack onto his back and began marching forward, angry that because of his impromptu rescue there was a fair spray of ice on his goggles. Ray would not leave him be, limping alongside him and talking to his unconscious partner, reassuring him even though there was no way he could hear him, what with being passed out and all. 

Geoff had Gavin on his back, and the Archer had gone silent again, his face pressed against the snowy fur that covered Geoff’s back and shoulders, it was worrisome that the only sounds Michael had to listen to were Geoff’s continuous coughing, and Ray’s whispering somehow cutting through the sound of the storm still swirling around them. Those springs were looking pretty good at that point, he pondered if they would really be as great as Ray said, if they would really heal them…if there was something there at all. He could only hope; he hated hoping.

_._

There was a full centimeter of ice down the entire front of his body, his knees were beginning to freeze and resist moving; he cursed his own stupidity in not covering his exposed calves, the shards cut at his skin leaving small lacerations not even a millimeter deep- but they stung. Michael groaned when he had to run just to work up the force to go against the wind, he was exhausted and his chest heaved along painfully, throat stinging and eyes half frozen shut. 

A meter behind him Ray was trudging along, arms wrapped around himself and his cape brought up and over his head to offer slight protection, he was visibly shivering and had since stopped talking at all.

Even further behind, Geoff was struggling to keep up and force himself, and Gavin on his back, through the fierce winds and up the sloping path. At that point he was coughing almost constantly, leaving a spatter of bloody in the snow ever couple feet and needing occasional rests against the rock face to keep himself going.

Reassuring words sat on Michael’s tongue, he wanted to shout for them to keep moving, that they were almost there; he could almost see the peak and a small plateau, but the storm was too monstrous and he could not get his voice loud enough.

“Michael…” Ray pushed his body to the limit and caught up enough to speak out so the Hunter would hear him. Michael turned and looked to where Ray was looking, back to where Geoff had stopped walking and was coughing his lungs out; he sighed and turned around to yell downwind at his boss.

“You okay man, we gotta keep-“ He wasn’t able to finish before he watched Geoff go limp and fall to the ground lifelessly, with an equally unmoving Gavin still on his back. “Geoff!”

_._

The quickly made sleigh, produced from a slab of oak bark and some rope, was not enough to pull the weight of two bodies through the storm; Ray felt his knees quake underneath him and his left ankle gave out, evoking a disturbing snapping noise. He did not even have the energy to yell out as he tumbled into the rock face and unceremoniously slid onto his butt. Looking at his hand, all he saw was an appendage made of ice, no longer shivering, same with his suit jacket: covered with snow. 

Michael jogged over to him, setting Jack down and pulling the youngest man’s head between his hands, thumbs rubbing underneath his eyes where the white mask was frozen to his face. He whispered rushed incoherencies until Ray cracked an exhausted, delirious grin, “Things went to shit real f-fast.” Ray whispered. Michael could only shake his head, still holding fast to his companion’s cheeks. Ray’s eyes began to flutter closed before he forced them open one last time, “..Joel was right…we…we couldn’t…”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I forgot to beta the final draft until like 30 minutes ago, oops. Glad I did I had to fix a lot of mistakes.   
> This is kinda a filler chapter but I do hope you enjoy, sorry if it's crap ^^;  
> Constructive criticism is always welcomed in the comments 8)  
> -Casey

_”Hey,” Geoff turned and smiled when Jack plopped down next to him, dropping an apple on his chest, and when he picked it up he realized how cool and damp it felt against his sun-heated skin. With a momentary nod in thanks he bit into it and felt the juice drip from the fruit and down his chin, there was a peculiar lack of flavor but he didn’t mind._

_Gavin was curled up to his right, from where he was strewn out on his back with one hand behind his head; the young man was sleeping soundly and lacked his heavier armor pieces, however his bow was tucked securely in his arms. On the other side of Gavin Michael was sat rested on his hands, hood draped back and goggles sitting in the grass next to him; there was still a flower crown of dandelions on his head from when Gavin decided to lovingly craft him one. He was quiet, but then again, when was he not quiet._

_The sun beat down on Geoff in the most comforting way, warming not only his body, but the grass around him, encasing him in a welcomed cocoon, one he did not plan on escaping from._

__“Get up guys!” _Ray’s voice was distant and Geoff had half a mind to ignore him, but Jack was already on his feet and jogging over with Michael strolling behind him; the hunter, just before he ducked out of sight of the hill turned back and looked at Geoff, worry mixed with sadness- and Geoff could not determine the source of such a feeling on such a wonderful day._

_Behind Michael, Geoff noted Jack reaching Ray and being brought into a tight hug, grabbed by the face, and seemingly scolded before being let go and hugged again. To accentuate the weather, a cool breeze blew over the field, rustling the flowers and the grass and pushing Geoff’s bangs off his forehead gently._ “Come back Geoff.” _The Hunter mumbled, taking a step back towards him but deciding against it and turning his back, trekking carefully up the adjoining hill, greeted by Jack with a huge hug._

_“Mmh, maybe we should go.” Gavin admitted, sitting up and opening his eyes just enough to prove he was awake._

_Geoff sighed and looked around, “But it’s so nice here. It’s perfect.” He pointed out with a soft smile, “Why don’t we all stay here?” His voice wavered while he ushered himself into the sitting position._

_“You know why, Geoff.” Gavin pointed out; but Geoff really didn’t understand, try as he might to understand what he meant._

_With seemingly weak limbs and shaky footing, Gavin got to his feet and began stepping through the field towards their waiting companions, a strange, inexplicable, but noticeable limp in his left leg._ “If I could get up then you can!” _The Archer shouted back as he reached the top of the next hill._

_Why should he get up? He was tired, he wanted to go to sleep; the grass was cushioning him and providing a warm comfort as the sun shone down to bring out the greens and blacks in his outfit; absorbing the heat, lulling him to acquiescent drowsiness. But in looking left and right, the new, overwhelming feeling of solidarity hit him like a brick wall, and the silence was as encompassing as the sun was warm, and Geoff didn’t want to be alone again. On the breeze he heard a low, rasping tone, heard his name spoken through the grass; he was being told to come back, to not leave,_ not again. __

_There was something in those final two words, before the breeze died away and all was quiet again, a hushed urgency coupled with the words expressing repetitive circumstance; he was letting someone down by remaining here._

_Geoff stood and stretched his stiff limbs, eyes locked onto the blue expanse of sky, dotted with clouds; peaceful serenity where Geoff could have sworn there was only recently chaotic turmoil. There was a slight chill that tickled his cheeks and stung his eyes just enough to make him blink, “Yeah,” He hummed, turning his head away from the wind, “Looks boring here anyway.”_

Jack was surprised when Geoff’s body surged into motion as he sat up and coughed out a mouthful of blood, diluted with water and saliva, it splattered over the furs wrapped around him, over the surrounding rock, and some onto the front of Jack’s shirt. His coughing continued until he felt hands on his back and a bottle pressed to his mouth; without thinking he drank from it, surprised by the sickly sweet flavor that immediately soothed his throat and eased his coughing. As his head slowly began to stop aching, and the heat on his skin flooded away, Geoff opened his eyes, expecting to see Jack in his field of vision, bright colored hair framing a comforting smile he had grown accustom to.

But instead there was someone he did not recognize- big blue eyes and pale auburn hair staring at him, and without a second thought, Geoff reared back his right arm and swung, hitting the stranger in the face, knocking them back far enough to slip into the steaming pool that lay before him. At the sight, Geoff was taken aback. Where were they? How had they gotten here? “Are these-“ He felt his voice break and crackle away in his throat for a minute, “Are these the springs Ray talked about?”

“You punched him right in the face!” Jack pointed out in surprise, torn between going to help the stranger or staying with Geoff. But the newly-woken survivor saw no reason to be surprised; it was a simple thing to keep strangers away from him, was it so hard? He remarked that at least he’d only punched the guy and not had Gavin shoot him, which as his track record shows, is how he normally greets strangers. 

There was a splash of water and the stranger heaved himself out of the pool, hair wetted down and hanging in his face, suit jacket clinging to him awkwardly, and kilt darkened by the water; the feathers hanging off of the man’s belt were soggy and looked nothing like feathers. “It’s alright,” The stranger groaned and spit out a fair bit of water, breathing and letting out a few strained coughs from having accidentally swallowed a mouthful of spring water, “I was half expecting that.” He smiled good-naturedly and stood up, shucking off his jacket and wringing it out until it was only damp, and put it back on for the time-being.

“Who are you?” Geoff muscled out, flinching when his jerking about brought a sharp pain to his chest, Jack took his shoulders and settled him back, shushing him until he leaned back and shut his eyes; his breath was labored and sounded withheld as he breathed. “More importantly what the hell happened to me?” He wondered, keeping his eyes squeezed shut as he dealt with the pain in his torso.

Something appeared to dawn on Jack and he turned back to where Ray was sat with his legs hanging in the water looking disgruntled, “Hey Ray,” The younger man turned and perked up, “Go get Michael.” 

Looking to Geoff for just a moment, a big smile crossed Ray’s face, “I will, good to see you’re gonna be okay Ramsey.” And once he said that he stood, not bothering to roll down his pant legs or put shoes on before he jogged over to a grouping of rocks and disappeared behind them. 

“Ryan,” The stranger stepped into his field of vision and greeted him with an outstretched hand, “My name is Ryan.” He smiled kindly when Geoff hesitantly took his hand. “Sorry for startling you before.” He looked genuinely apologetic. Ryan, began taking possession of all manner of things scattered around the ground, including bloodied bandages, empty and half-filled bottles, needles and thread with hints of dried blood caked onto them, and a lot of bloodied fur; the latter which he took with no indication of disgust, but with dignity and carried it over to a dip in the ground where it seemed other bloodied materials obviously due for disposal. “And you appeared to have been entering the final legs of a bad bout of tuberculosis in your lungs, I haven’t cured you totally but-“

Geoff interrupted by spitting, “Fuck! What the hell did you make me drink? _Oh god_ , I only now taste it that’s awful!” He wiped his face on his arms, coughing again. 

Ryan chuckled, “Much like your friend here I’m plum out of healing potions; that was just regular medicine.” He explained, showing off the half-full bottle he had Geoff drink from before. At the skeptical look he got in reply, he took a swig of it himself, cringing at the bitter taste. “Not poisoned; see? Just disgustingly bitter.” He tucked the bottle away turned to the left.

Only then did Geoff turn to notice Gavin sitting a meter or so to his left, no furs or covers over him but instead a slew of bandages were wrapped around his arms and patched onto his face, small cuts were still visible; the bridge of his nose and rise of his cheeks were red and cracked with bad frostbite. The young man turned to weakly smile at him as Ryan lifted his head to spoon him some water, “Hey Geoff.” He greeted, little droplets of water running down his chin.

“Hey kid,” Geoff smiled genuinely, reaching his hand out to rub the younger man’s shoulder, “You alright?” He got a slow nod in response before Gavin lost energy and let his head rest back against the rocks again, breathing in and out deeply.

At his feet, Ryan was unwrapping the bandages from his left calf (real bandages that Geoff assumed Ryan applied while he was out) dabbing gently when thin trickles of translucent blood fell down his leg and into his boot. “Why haven’t you given him anything? Give him the stuff you gave me.” Geoff wondered aloud, trying to sound more aggravated where his voice was lacking in all emphasis or energy.

With intent purpose, Ryan reached into the pouch at his belt and pulled out a roll of snowy white gauze; Gavin exhaled sharply when he applied pressure to his laceration and began wrapping it again. “Because Gavin isn’t sick.” Jack was the one that began to explain seeing as though their newest companion had zoned out. “His injury got badly infected and that ruined his immune system which therefore led to physical exhaustion and muscle strain.” The ginger handed Geoff a slab of wood with a cooked, but cold steak on it, which the eldest bit into eagerly. 

Around the bend on the other side of the pool, Geoff watched Michael jog out with Ray walking carefully behind him. The Hunter didn’t stop until he reached his Boss’ side, taking the older survivor by the shoulders, “We made a deal you asshole!” Michael began yelling, a queer strain to his voice; like it was cracking. Geoff’s eyes were wide, unfocused, and confused as he was shaken, “We made a deal that you would not make me watch you die; do you know how fucking close you came to breaking that promise!” He yelled.

A knowing, but soft smirk danced across Geoff’s face; he understood the yelling, he wouldn’t say it out loud to prevent causing his friend to be embarrassed, but he knew Michael had only been worried for him: scared. Hesitantly he reached out and gripped the Hunter’s shoulders reassuringly, “I’m sorry.” And that’s all Michael needed to hear before he straightened himself out and stepped away.

_._

Geoff, stiff limbs and all, reached over to pull another log and toss it into the fire, groaning when the action rebounded and sent a paroxysm of painful heat through his torso that spun around in his chest for a bit before calming. The fire before him crackled and licked at the new wood, charring the bark until the dry oak wood beneath caught light and sent the flames higher into the night sky. The rocks under and around him were warm but the ever present chill of the mountains and encompassing storm still rattled his bones and made him wish he had some clean furs at the time; he watched the ice and snow just below them where the clouds began, but had to turn away upon being reminded of the blinding pain he endured.

Highlighted in orange by the fire was Jack sat across from him, idly spinning a potato on a stick just out of reach of the whips of red and yellow, his mind was obviously elsewhere, and his eyes were constantly being focused on Ray, who was neck-deep in the heated spring with his head rested back against the rocks surrounding the pool. He hadn’t moved in about 20 minutes and didn’t respond when Jack called him; which was not entirely like him. 

Michael was knelt in front of Gavin peeling away some light bandaging from the younger man’s arms and face, revealing the tiny cuts that were hidden beneath, the skin around them noticeably tender and pink while the cuts themselves remained red. Although Gavin did not appear to be in pain, he certainly looked knackered. The Hunter reached up for Gavin’s eye patch but got his hand moved away in a half-hearted attempt at a swat; Michael glared at him but stole his annoyance and softened his expression. “Lemme see it you idiot.” He chided softly, and Gavin complied, moving his arms out of the way.

With all manner of care, Michael lifted the brown leather eye patch, smirking: his eye was still swollen and bruised and it was obvious there were many broken blood vessels in the eyeball itself and around it. There were four very easily identifiable bruised imprints over his eye where Michael remembered punching him, part of him felt just a little bad; but he mostly thought it was funny. “Yeah you’re fine, see. Just wanted to check.” He brought the eye patch back over the Archer’s eye and sat back on his haunches. 

“Where’d Ryan go?” Jack turned and smiled as Ray pulled himself out of the water, looking like his blood was flowing beneath his skin, that was still red with windburn, and while he looked just as exhausted as the rest of them, his eyes were bright again and not glazed over with that dying haze that Michael remembered watching slowly burn out just before the masked man went unconscious. 

“Dunknow.” Jack responded, standing up and helping Ray with his suit, supporting him when Ray’s shattered ankle gave out; slowly but surely helping his friend over to sit by the fire, sitting to his immediate left. 

Michael joined them, sitting against the rock face a ways back from the hearth, forcefully peeling away the thin layers of wood from a small log with his dulled pocket knife; sharpening it to a point and blowing away the wood shavings every so often. 

For the first time in a long time it felt awkward sitting there, but at the same time, they were all too exhausted to care. Finally Geoff spoke, but not before letting out a few coughs, “So how long have we been up here exactly?” He wondered.

Michael answered, sounding disgruntled and angry, “About three days,”

“I was asleep for three days?” Geoff wondered; shocked. 

Jack nodded, “Asleep and fighting a fatal disease. We were all worried you wouldn’t wake up.” He concluded.

Michael huffed but continued, “Ray passed out and I struggled up the last few meters by myself, but Ryan came along and helped but I passed out as soon as I knew everyone was safe.” He ran the knife over the wood hard enough to break the thin tip off; he threw the stump and ran a hand through his no-longer matted hair. “Of course I didn’t, and still don’t, trust that Ryan guy, but I couldn’t…couldn’t keep myself up.” He seemed genuinely angry at himself, with his hand twisted into his hair and fingernails scraping his scalp.

Geoff quickly picked up a small rock and threw it at the Hunter, successfully catching his attention, “Hey,” He growled, “Knock that off, we were all nearly dead I don’t want your self-pitying bullshit.” Geoff explained. 

Knees drawn in closer and head lowered in understanding, Michael quieted. Jack looked crookedly at Geoff, keeping quiet about his trepidations in relation to the treatment of that kind of self-punishment; offhandedly he looked at Ray and set a firm hand on the younger man’s shoulder. 

“Hey Ray,” Came Gavin’s weak call from his makeshift bed, “Maybe now is a good time to say what you needed to say.” By the end of the sentence his voice was a weak sizzle in his throat and he hurriedly leaned back and breathed deeply. 

Geoff looked at Ray and noticed the sudden shift in posture, and Jack’s quick look of nervousness, “What you were gonna tell us all those nights ago, but Jack covered for you because you were nervous.” Gavin continued, smiling knowingly when Geoff and Michael looked between the three of them confusedly. 

There was always some kind of hitch, Geoff inwardly sighed, running his hand over his face, wincing when the pads of his hand hit the flaky skin around his minimal frostbite. He was ready to hear the worst; to sit by and listen to Ray tell them about some mental illness or that he and Jack were actually girls (of course he realized how ridiculous the latter option seemed, but Geoff was prepared for anything). 

“Geoff…” Ray began shakily, absentmindedly moving his hand to grip Jack’s pantleg to ground himself, “You asked me a while back; why I didn’t help Jack with building or collecting materials…”

_Maybe he’s actually a fish_ , Geoff thought, _maybe they’re fish people here to enslave the people of Minecraftia_. 

“I’m not…a …survivor.” Each word was separated with a long pause and a nervous look.

_Demigods maybe? Perhaps they just really like telling stories._

“I’m certainly not a Creator.” Ray continued, mumbling.

Michael sat up straight at that, attention and eyes completely fixed on their masked companion, “No,” He whispered, a look of pure disbelief plastered on his face, “ _No, no, you’re not…_ you’re all dead. _Adventurers_ don’t exist, I watched so many of them… _no._ ” Michael stood up and approached Ray, the action led Jack to scoot himself in-between the Hunter and his partner. But Michael stopped and turned back, beginning to pace.

It took hearing the word for Geoff to piece it together, and when he did he firstly turned back to Gavin, “You knew?” He asked. Gavin nodded.

“He told me earlier when you were passed out.” He explained with a smirk.

All Geoff could really do was listen to Michael’s inane mumbling; mentioning artwork and scripture from 150 years ago, how he’d read it all, how he’d killed and watched die. Quite the secret, “So you really couldn’t help him build…You’re an Adventurer? Like the dead species of people…an Adventurer?” It had been stated and affirmed, but the eldest could not collect his thoughts any more than to question it.

Ray shrugged, “Yeah, guess I am.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I didn't update last week, it was really not a good week, but hopefully that shouldn't happen again anytime soon.   
> And if anyone cares I may do a mid-week update as well as a Friday update next week because I've been slacking and I feel really bad ^^; Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter.

The vast, hollow room was newly filled with the sound of metal-on-flesh; painful pounding that rattled the bone and caused deep-set bruising and broke open the skin until the ground where they connected was splattered with small streaks of blood. Fists were bruised but otherwise ignored as the wielder glided almost daintily over the stone bricks to his victim, heel of his boot coming down on the other’s head; there was a wide splatter of pale gold blood and the form lay motionless whereas before they had been groveling, making excuses.

The third and fourth people present flinched away at the sight, the one with the lengthy blonde hair and adorned in long grey satin robes seemed the least affected, quickly returning to her uniformed stance while her companion, a male with uneven brown hair and human-esq clothing, refused to look back at the gruesome sight. 

“Stand proper, Chris.” The woman spoke sternly but there was an understanding compassion in her tone and she laid a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder but he jerked away, catching the keen eye of their other companion, and apparent leader. 

He strode over, eyes narrowed and showing as white as the snow in the mountains, “Is something wrong Kara?” His voice was deep as a trench and poisonous as a snake, and it effectively scared Kara enough to abandon Chris’ side and stand with her hands clenched together behind her back.

She swallowed hard, “Just upset, sir.” With some effort she managed an empty smirk, “Can’t handle such blood shows.” Her voice played just along disgust and obedience, but the ringmaster did not seem to mind. Instead he stepped into the young man’s personal space, coughing to catch his attention, which at first did not work, so instead he resorted to hauling the spindly man upright by the hood of his capelette, chuckling at the indignant squeak that came from the other.

The ringmaster looked the other Creator up and down, confused and annoyed, “What’s your problem Demarais?” He asked, voice softer than it was before. He inched closer to the shorter man, leaning down just enough to look him in the face, “I watched you slaughter the masses all those years ago don’t act for a second that you’re squeamish.” With anger in his tone, the ringmaster cursed the twitchy man, releasing his hood. 

He turned his back, red cape slipping exuberantly behind him; his eyes found the bleeding and bruised corpse of his corrupted follower, something in him began to feel sick though he tried to retain any sort of disgust. “I didn’t know those people though.” Chris spoke meekly a couple minutes after the fact. 

The ringmaster sighed, “You grew up with half of them-“

“But I was never their friend.” Now he was louder, surprising Kara and the ringmaster with his forcefulness. His chest was heaving and there were tears in his eyes despite the cloudy grey-brown flicker that forced chill through hearts and heads, but in such company it had no validity especially as his master’s luminous white eyes bore through him like a knife. Chris fell onto his knees which were scrapped upon impact, calling his paling gold lifeblood to the surface; the stench of decaying bio matter and charred brick was heavy in his noise as was the encompassing silence that stretched beyond his labored breathing. 

Over his forehead are where his bangs sat dampened by his own sweat and beginning to cool and harden at jaunty angles that left him looking possibly even madder than before; his fingers were taut and bruised where they clamped down on his own arms, leaving small indents there where his jagged, uncut nails dug into his skin. Following was a long few minutes where no one spoke a word, encompassing silence trapping all three Creators; offhandedly Kara began messing with the iron armor decorating his arms, running her nail over the dried blood over the silver surfaces to chip it away. 

The assumed leader grunted, “Stand up Chris,” He grabbed the smaller man by the bicep and jerked him up until he stood on weakened knees. “We have no time for mourning.” With nimble steps he returned to the corpse that lay in a puddle of metallic-gold blood that continued to increase in size; the ringmaster’s face was not visible but something in his posture, the way his shoulders slouched and hood dipped lower, that made Kara realize their leader wasn’t heartless. She surprised herself by not having figured it out sooner, in fact she’d never seen him kill a single soul until that day; brutally beating the life out of King Heyman when he flew in bragging colorfully about fatally injuring one of the Survivors and chasing them all into the mountains where a storm was beginning to rage, the same Survivors that the ringleader specifically said not to interfere. 

_Watch out for the quiet ones…_ Kara half-smirked.

“Joel was a great man…once,” The hooded man’s voice cracked just enough to be noticeable to those paying attention. “But time eroded his mind like rocks in a river, he was no longer the man who raised the young Creators, nor the man who took care of the Adventurers; he was…he wasn’t the Joel we knew. I’m sorry…I wish I could have-“ He sighed and touched a hand to his face, the bright of his eyes disappeared, indicating that he closed them; then without another word he turned and strode towards the far door, his long red robe trailed behind him like a river cut-off from the ocean, his strides were not as purposeful as Kara remembered. “Eberle, go to the eastern tundra and check for Creepers in the survivors’ immediate path. Take Demarais, clear his head.” He left out the fact that was his recollection of Joel going mad involved him doing exactly what Chris was doing. Kara nodded and took Chris’ arm, hauling him into the air until the other supported himself and followed behind her, hollow eyes locked onto her flowing grey cape.

Outside they looked upon the ruin of an old kingdom of the iron age, rust and ruin sat around them like dust settled on a shelf, but it was sickly familiar. High into the sky, Kara flew, but stopped as soon as the clouds covered her and Chris; she took the other Creator’s face in her hands and stared him down, grey-blue eyes meeting his continuously paling grey ones. “Chris,” She spoke calmly to her friend, “I need you to be strong dude, okay? I can’t do this on my own, and you can’t possibly leave me to deal with Brandon and Miles; you know they hardly understand the plan anyway.” She forced a kind smile, but Chris seemed to believe it, “You’re better than them anyway, so c’mon let’s go do what the red hood says.” She placed a gentle hand on her friend’s back and began flying to the east.

Chris looked at her with a meek smile, “For now?” 

Kara nodded, her expression suddenly steely and dangerous, “For now.”

_._ 

Gavin giggled as he moved in to place another rock on top of the small pyramid he was building on Jack’s head before moving on to stack more twigs around the square structure that sat perched on Ray’s head; the two were sound asleep next to one another, somewhat leaned against the other without care. The young man got a kick out of the small twitch in Jack’s face whenever he neared, snickering incessantly until Michael reached over and smacked the back of his head, “They’re tired you idiot don’t pester them like that.” He bristled, “They were the first to be up and took care of us for two days straight, show a little thanks by leaving them alone-“

He was already being ignored as Gavin went right back to stacking sticks on the both of them. Attentive as ever, Geoff grumbled and sat up, eyes half-lidded, mouth dry, and head pounding; the empty bottle in his right hand was quickly tossed over the nearest edge, slipping from the weak grasp with unsurprising ease. He nodded his head down and breathed through his nose, recoiling at the rancid smell of blood and sickness that stuck to him, not to mention a stale aroma of homemade alcohol. 

Even though his legs protested the movement, he otherwise felt fine, so Geoff hauled himself to his feet, shedding his heavy chest piece and shoulder pads with a relieved breath, the odor that drifted out afterwards was far from pleasant. He did not hesitate much in jogging over and half-falling into the spring, creating a sizeable wave as he did so; Michael flinched away from the splash while Gavin and Ray got a liberal bath (while Jack amazingly avoided no more than a few flecks of water). 

The masked man shot up sputtering, wiping at his face and looking around confusedly, he saw the green-clad Archer knelt in front of him and scowled. Gavin flinched, “Wot? I didn’t do it! I’m wet too, ya’ knob!” He turned around to make a point, watching Geoff bob back to the surface with a pleased sigh, dark hair further darkened by the water and flattened to his head. Ray groaned but ultimately let a good natured grin pass over his features, leaning back and resting his head against the rocks.

He sat and felt his body not respond to his commands to sit up, but he didn’t so much mind; his eyes were heavy, he didn’t care is his suit was soaked now, the air smelled faintly of their recently eaten meal and kept him calm. The rocks beneath him were chilled by the mountain air but the furs draped between himself and Jack were warm enough for him to rest comfortably.

Speaking of being comfortable, Ray smiled as he looked over at his partner, the wind burn on his nose and cheeks was beginning to fade away and be replaced with Jack’s usual rosy visage; though the pile of pebbles on his head was a bit odd so he slowly began removing them, tossing them at Gavin when the Archer wasn’t looking. 

“Well aren’t you two cute.” Geoff hummed as he dragged himself from the pool, shirt quickly shucked off as it clung to his frame awkwardly. Ray glared at him but the older man was otherwise preoccupied wringing out his shirt and shaking his head like a dog to dry his hair. 

The day was spent lazily, and there was a strange lack of Ryan , and the lot of them were too exhausted to ask questions, that is except Michael. The Hunter had not slept a wink since Ryan had stalked off to do some mining, constantly pacing around the pool, occasionally starring off into the cavern- seeming to contemplate going in, but ultimately decided against it. His nerves were on end, he had not spoken a word to Ray for that time either, avoiding the Adventurer at all costs; Geoff confronted him about it no more than once, receiving a, frankly very _violent_ response. It’s safe to say Geoff did not continue with his interrogations after that point.

_._

_Joel was stood over him, face, clothes, and sword splattered with blood of red, gold, and maroon, behind him was a sight too gruesome for him to fathom without feeling the overwhelming need to purge. A string, a trail, of bodies lead up to the King, each one having stepped before the Creator to protect **him** ; the thought had a sob catching in his throat and tears running over his dirtied, scarred cheeks. The furthest back was Geoff who had cockily attempted to cut the Creator down where he stood; his mace and iron sword now lay uselessly next to his mangled corpse. With vision blurry all he saw was the outline of the swords, pics, and axes that were lodged into his Boss’, his friend’s, body; upright and thoroughly stuck. He forcefully gagged upon realizing he had been dead before Joel chopped the last axe into his back._

_A bit closer was the mess that was Jack, a shimmering golden spear shot through the center of his chest, with Ray less than a meter from him with his throat slit open and liters of his maroon red blood spilled over the rocky, cobblestone ground. From there, bloody footprints tracked past Ryan, rich red lifeblood lying over the ground in an eccentric arch of chaotic uniformity from where Joel swung his sword around and severed his midsection._

_Gavin was last, eyes opened just a crack and cast at Michael sadly, his hand shakily reaching out towards them; he grabbed Joel’s ankle, but that did not phase the Creator as he offhandedly summoned a spade to chop down on the Archer, silencing him in a spatter of blood that flew over Michael in clustered flecks. It was the first time the Hunter minded having another’s blood on him; in a frenzy he wiped at his arms and face, but nothing was coming off, every time he touched a spatter it expanded and dripped down his arms._

__“Geoff …” _His voice cracked, he went down the line, reciting his companion’s names silently. Hand shaky, Michael reached out and took Gavin’s hand, now dead and cold against the stone; there was blood there too, not a lot, but simultaneously too much for the desensitized Hunter._ ”Gavin…”

_What could he do, he was Mogar, the Hunter, covered-in-blood and ready to kill! No: useless. That was all he was now, there wasn’t a point; he held tighter to Gavin’s hand,_ ”Gavin buddy, I’m…I’m sorry, I shoulda’ been better to you, I just-“ _In his peripheral he saw Joel raising his sword; Michael didn’t want to die, not like this, not after so much, but the lifeless palm in his own gave him incentive not to care, to be scarred. He was very scarred. Eyes full of unshed tears frozen in time, he glared up at Joel with all the malice he could, fist tightening into fists; this wasn’t how Mogar was going out._

__”Michael!” _Behind Joel Michael watched Geoff shoot up, weapons still sticking out of his frame and bleeding out impossible amounts of blood,_ ”Get up Michael!” _His voice sounded so distant, but alive though the body before him was mauled and useless, eyes whited over and colorless. He couldn’t feel his legs or arms, or much of anything, but Michael let the tears fall over his cheeks as he powered himself forward at Joel._

Ryan watched from where he was made to stay back as Michael shot up from his bedding and grabbed the front of Gavin’s scarf, tackling him backwards and raising a fist, but Geoff grabbed him and hauled him back, talking quickly into his ear until, Ryan noticed, his eyes constricted and frame relaxed. Where Gavin should have been upset over being tackled, he looked concerned and worried as he returned to kneeling in front of his hyper-violent friend. 

From where he was, Ryan could not hear exactly what they were saying, but Michael was distinctly calmer than the past few days, at least; according to what Ryan has seen. He was hesitant, but ultimately stood up and walked closer holding a bottle of water in hand just in case he could offer his help; upon stepping up, Michael was the one to turn and glare at him, the redness of his eyes indicating something that Ryan previously thought the Hunter incapable of. 

“Hey do you need-“

“Get away from me.” Michael half-mumbled, then stood up and jogged away wiping at his face and arms. 

Ryan sat back very disheartened until he felt an arm around his shoulder and Jack smiled comfortingly at him, “It’s alright, at least he didn’t try and kill you.” Ryan chuckled at that.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an insanely short chapter, I'm sorry, my senior year is coming to a close and I've been working extra hard on schoolwork the past couple weeks. But I hope this isn't too terrible ^^; And thank you for reading!

There had been an overwhelming sense of guilt for the past day that was driving Ryan to slowly ease himself down the incline where Michael had stormed off the night prior, since the wind was not as strong up on the peak, above the clouds, he tracked the uneven, heavy footprints in the snow and ice. He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling his suit jacket beginning to get cold in the glacial air, his bangs flipped gently against his forehead, the occasional strand flopping down just far enough to tickle his nose; he pushed it all back up into place whenever it got out of hand. The occasional renegade snowflake was forced up by the breeze and landed on his face or on his jacket, he would watch them if they flew past, his vision was good enough to pick out the crystalized structures of the ones that got close enough; it was eerily peaceful. But with the wind whistling over the mountain top and carrying the voices of his new companions to his ears, it felt less empty than perhaps it should have.

He sighed, watching his breath condense into fog before him, had his breath even ever been so warm? A smile crossed his face and his icy blue eyes caught the warm glow of the sun that warmed his pale, seemingly always frigid skin. Despite wanting to revel in the sunlight, Ryan couldn’t help but notice the stumbling nature of the footsteps he was following down the incline; against one of the many large boulders he saw messy handprints where it seemed as though someone had fallen and caught themselves. Though he had known the Hunter for less than 3 days, he was immensely worried, mostly due to finding him and the others half dead in a terrible blizzard no more than 4 days prior; there were probably injuries he hadn’t seen that Michael was being subject to, and pained by. 

Around the bend he breathed out a sigh of relief when he set eyes on the brown fur and diamond sword that was somehow already so familiar in his mind. He began towards Michael, slowly and quietly, but loud enough to alert the jumpy man to his presence without startling him; within moments he was stood next to where Michael was sitting against a low evergreen tree. His arms were red with cold and he was sniffling, obviously not from crying but because of the cold air being pulled through his nose; Ryan carefully sat down next to him, not saying a word.

Around them the day dragged on with little to no care for the obviously disgruntled Survivor sat motionlessly under a frozen tree in a circle of dug-out snow to where his bum was numbed from the chilled slate rock beneath him. Snowflakes seemed to drift through the tree for the sole purpose of landing on top of Michael’s turned-up hood, dusting it in stark white against the dark brown. His eyes were cast out into the grey-white clouds of the storm raging below them, glazed over and missing the fire Ryan was used to seeing in his brown-orange eyes. 

Out into the silence Ryan breathed, shuffled his coat off his shoulders and laid it over Michael’s, and only then did the rock-hard man flinch, ultimately returning to starring out into the drab without any spark of emotion. His hands were eerily still against his arms, crossed in front of him to mask the lower have of his face, and even as they began to go red, and then white with the enduring chill- he did not move. 

Ryan twiddled his thumbs, pulled at the fraying hem of his kilt, wrapped the thin leather cord connected to his pouch around his finger before letting it unspin and therefor tangle in his lap; he looked straight up and watched the snow column around his line of sight, but there was barely enough to faze him when it landed on his skin. But he felt each little speck of cold as it touched him, smiling offhandedly at the serenity. “Who am I Ry’?” The voice of his companion startled him out of his tranquility, he looked crookedly at the Hunter and his glassy-looking eyes. 

There was another bout of silence because Ryan had no clue what to say; he had a sneaking suspicion that the question was rhetorical, and therefor remained quiet. Michael moved, shifting against the tree until his head was rested back against the ice-decorated bark of the tree, “What am I…?” He mumbled, closing his eyes and breathing out slowly into the cold air. 

“Well, you’re Michael Jones, partner to long-suffering drunkard Geoff Ramsey.” Ryan grinned softly, knowing Michael wasn’t looking at him, but nonetheless tried to be friendly. There was no kind of response. “You’re Mogar.” Ryan mumbles, receiving a small twitch in response. “The Hunter, the survivor; feared by many. Even I’ve heard of you and I haven’t been around other people for years.

An empty chuckle came from the brown-clad man, “Being alone is better, no one to hold you back.” He mumbled. 

Ryan shrugged, “I don’t think I held you back.” The other was silent, “I saved your life.” He continued boldly. 

Michael growled,” I would have been fine.”

“You passed out as soon as we were at the top.”

Fiery auburn eyes, struck with great familiarity, flipped towards him, “I didn’t need you.” He spat, and Ryan recoiled. He watched the kindling begin to catch and the blood in the Hunter’s veins begin to rush around through his cheeks and arms and chest, his teeth were bared, canines noticeably sharp; the picture of the legend. 

At his sides, Michael’s fists tightened into dangerous fists, “I _never _needed you!” His voice was loud and resounding by that point, the sound waves reverberating off the nearby rocks and casting out into the grey abyss. “I never needed _anyone_!” __

__Ryan’s initial instincts screamed for him to leave as the Hunter’s emotional state began to spiral downward, physically noticeable as he began to tap his leg and dig his nails into the ground, his breath was heavy though he was not moving, and his throat was emitting a long, continuous growl that made Ryan wary. Where peace was moments ago, fear and anger were boiling over and tainting the air, “You all- Geoff, Gavin, Jack, Ray, _you_ \- have made it all…made it all so **fucking difficult!** ” He screamed and shot to his feet, storming out until the toe of his shoe was hanging over the edge of the cliff; ryan followed him but gave him a meters distance space. _ _

__Michael’s shoulders rose and fell with his breathing, “ **I** was once great. **I** was once loved, not feared like some **god. Damned. Animal!** ”_ _

__“Michael,” Ryan spoke softly, reaching out, “I was only trying to talk to you, I’m sorry; please calm down.” He urged. But Mogar was having none of it as he spun around and glared down the other._ _

__“You weren’t there, Ryan. _None_ of you were there!” Michael shouted, turning, punching the tree, making his knuckles bleed, and turning back to Ryan. “I was loved! I had a family! A mother and father and little sister, friends, neighbors; they weren’t afraid of me! I was their hero! Me!” His voice broke horribly, sounding more like a sob than a scream at this point. His face was red and he looked furious, but simultaneously miserable in a way that Ryan could not quite pinpoint. _ _

__The air around them seemed to calm, just enough for Ryan to take a step forward and place a hand on Michael’s back when his shoulders slumped and he cast his gaze to the ground weakly; Michael didn’t react._ _

__For a few long minutes Ryan remained there, moved his hand to Michael’s shoulder, and waited some more._ _

__“ _Me_ , Ryan…” Michael finally spoke, his voice hoarse from yelling. “Me of all people.” A crestfallen smile played just over his lips when he turned his head up to look at the sky, just enough blue poking through the grey to make it worthwhile. The rays of sunlight that found their way through the clouds shone around him on the grey slate rock, catching the ridges and showing off erosion patterns that made it look purposefully decorated. But neither of them noticed; Ryan’s full attention was the emotion playing over their oh-so-angry Hunter’s face, whilst the Hunter in question was staring at the sky thinking up memories with a heartbreaking smile and wide auburn eyes that for once, shone with a light that wasn’t fire. “I was happy.”_ _


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter I've written in a while, mostly cos it was so much fun to write. It's a look back on Michael's past because I got some people asking me about it on tumblr (which is really cool like wowee Ive got people wondering about stuff I'm writing! 8D) Hope you enjoy!   
> ((Also I might have said "scarred" instead of "scared" at one or two points I feel like I did but I've been starring at the document so long I can't tell anymore ^^; ))

Auburn hair flipped into ridiculous curls block the rays of light from hitting his eyes, though he could not see, at least he didn’t have the sun in his eyes as he ran in the wake of a village kid who toddled at barely a jogging pace in front of him. He rolled his eyes hearing the fond sighs and laughs of the fathers and mothers who stood by on their breaks; all hard workers happy to see their children playing under the eye of the young survivor who had no more than 6 years ago stumbled from the caves with blood stained on his skin from 17 years of hardship. 

Michael decided to catch up with the young girl and gently pick her up, spinning around as if it was some great feat, she giggled in delight, reaching out to grab the furry trim of Michael’s hood, her legs kicked out and hit him in the arms, but it wasn’t much of a pain so he ignored it. He felt his head growing dizzy so he slowed to a stop, much to the little girl’s dismay, but upon being placed on the ground she hugged his legs then ran off when another child called for her. 

As she retreated, Michael smiled fondly and sighed, casting his sight on the Sun setting behind the thin forest that lay nearby, illuminating the valley in alternating hues of orange and yellow, warming his skin but finally getting into his eyes and making him squint away. 

“You tired of handling them yet?” Michael turned and grinned as a friend of his walked up, a telltale smirk on his face. 

“JJ,” Michael greeted, “Yeah they’re a handful.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked back over the children, now playing some type of freeze-tag. 

JJ chuckled, “Wanna get a bite to eat? My mum just pulled a fresh batch of flatbread out of the oven, we could make sandwiches, if you can handle the calories that is.” 

With a scoff Michael began to follow him into town, “I swear dude I’m not even dieting, I eat like a fucking pig, you all just have me do so much stuff all day that it kinda cancels out.” His voice was firm but wasn’t serious, but rather lighthearted and joking. The gravel under his feet crunched as he walked, wide paces with a definite destination, around them the town smelled of fresh harvest and the sounds of casual conversation flowed through the air to counter the distant yelling of farmers at their cattle or horses. Children began to be called in from the field as the Sun threatened to take its light away and leave the world darkened to monsters, they scurried around him and JJ with their parents in-tow, looking tired and run-down.

Upon stepping up the stone brick stairs and going through the plain wooden door, they were met with the howling voice of a concerned father, “Jose-Jones!” JJ’s father bellowed, much to the dismay of the young man. “I told you to clean your room and water the pigs before sundown, have you done either of those things?” His tone was accusing more so than questioning.

Shoulders tensed in nervousness as JJ made a vague hand gesture, “ _Yeeeeeeahh_ , no...not yet, but I will, I will, okay?” JJ explained pitifully, receiving a roll-of-the-eyes from his father before they were left alone. 

Michael laughed and clapped his friend on the back, leading him to the counter of his family’s bar/eatery, calling for JJ’s mother, asking her about the bread, to which he received a friendly nod as she went to get the sandwich ingredients for her son and almost-son Michael. JJ rubbed at his temples, “I swear to shit my dad can be such a nag.”

“’Ey, watch your language!” His mother shouted from behind the counter. JJ planted his head in his hands as response. 

“Hm, I know dude.” Michael comforted, resting his hand on the other’s shoulder before JJ’s mother brought around a tray of vegetables, two pieces of flatbread folded sandwich-style, and two cooked beef patties to use on the sandwiches. Michael stacked his high with lettuce, tomatoes, jalapenos, banana peppers and fried pork bits, while JJ was more pretentious in his sandwich creation, preferring to layer a few pieces of spinach, tomatoes, onion, and pickles instead. 

A few healthy bites in, JJ lightened up once again, beginning to talk colorfully about his trip to the mines that day, incidentally spitting out flecks of foodstuffs; Michael nodded along, biting into his sandwich as he listened, laughing when it was right, and when his friend’s mother came over and chastised him for talking with his mouth full.

Behind them the door flew open and a girl with her hair tied back into a tangled mess of a ponytail skipped into the eatery, her tunic tied with a long, trailing English ivy vine upon which a few cocoa beans still clung to. Michael smiled widely and jumped down off the wooden barstool to greet her, kneeling down as she ran up to him and hugging her tightly. “Mickey!” She hollered and did her best to get her arms around his neck, which she finally did and hugged the Survivor tightly. 

Michael chuckled and pried her away, “Hey kiddo, I was worried we’d never see you again; after all your adventures in the jungle would be-“ He hesitated clutching his chest in mock-pain, “Too much for anyone but-“ He fell over and reached out for the girl, who stood by and giggled at the show, “…but the mighty Adventurer of the household. Just thinking about it is making me feel-“ He flipped himself over to lie on his back, forearm rested over his forehead, “ _Faint,,,_ ”

Elated by the dramatics, the girl ran over and nudged Michael’s arms, “Michael, cmon you’re not really dead!” She laughed. 

Further exaggerating, Michael took the young girl’s arm, “Tell… brother…that I….I,” He cracked an eye up at JJ who had been watching him with a dumb smirk the entire time, “That…I think he smells funny.” He let out a loud breath and went limp on the floor, but it wasn’t long before he heard a shill giggle and the girl jumped on his undefended middle. Despite the sudden loss of breath, Michael laughed and humored the child as she pretended to ‘save’ him.

There was a chuckle from behind the counter, “Alright honey let’s get off Michael now, he’s had a long day.” Their mother urged. 

The girl sighed and slipped off the Hunter’s stomach, “Awww, every day is a long day.” She whined but ultimately skipped off to the counter to get a small sandwich from her mother. JJ offered a hand to Michael, who took it while still chuckling off the experience with his pseudo-sister. 

“She really adores you.” Their mum admitted while pulling the dinner-rush breads from the oven.

JJ chuckled, “She’s only 6, he’s been here her whole life, and since they’re not blood related they don’t have that deep-down hatred for one-another that normal siblings do; so of course they get along.” Michael mock-punched his arm but all of them laughed. 

_._

“Hey Mike?” JJ hummed, turning on his side and hanging his arm off the top side of the double-bed. It took a minute but there was a grumbled hum of acknowledgement before Michael, on the bottom bunk, sat up groggily and kicked his legs off the edge of the bed to look up at his almost-brother. JJ had his face rested on his crossed arms, eyes lidded tiredly as he spoke, “Are you happy here?” He wondered. 

Michael’s face contorted to that of surprised confusion, “Of course dude, why would you even question that?” He asked, leaning back against the wall, “I’m certainly happier than I was in the bowels of Minecraftia for the first 17 years of my life.” He mumbled, hand subconsciously tracking long-healed injuries around his torso. 

“Are you gonna leave?” JJ asked suddenly and hushed into his arms. Startled by the question, Michael stood up and turned to lean against the bed, looking at him worriedly; he moved a deft hand up to clasp his pseudo-brother’s arm and didn’t say a word until his watery green eyes lifted to stare back. 

Michael couldn’t keep his voice from cracking just a bit, “Buddy what’s making you think about this?” He wondered.

JJ looked away, “I dun’know,” He sniffed, “I just think about things at night.” He looked back, “You’re 23 as of this week, my actual brother left 8 years ago when I was 9, when he was 23. Didn’t hardly say goodbye to me, never gotten to see his baby sister, probably doesn’t even know she exists. Never written, never come back, and that’s saying something cos most kids who leave home around here return back after 5 years at most.” His breathing was a bit frantic and he was beginning to ramble, so Michael pulled himself up onto the top bunk with him, accidentally bumping his head on the wooden ceiling. He pulled JJ closer to him by slinging an arm over his shoulder. “It’s alright, I know he’s probably dead, he’s too brash to have survived. Or maybe he’s still alive, I dun’know.” JJ sniffed. 

They let it stay silent for a couple minutes; it was comfortable and familiar, “Hey,” Michael murmured to get the younger man’s attention, “My brashness is what kept me alive, yea? And to this day if I wasn’t a little brash I’d probably be dead from all the coddling I get around here.” He received a small chuckle, but ultimately JJ’s smile disappeared and he curled into himself again. 

“Y’know,” Michael began in a more confident tone, “Us Survivors tend to have 150 year lifespans.”

JJ looked at him in surprise, “Is that true?” The Hunter nodded in response. “Damn.” The younger man’s shoulder slumped, “But us _humans_ only live to be like…a hundred? If we’re lucky and don’t get sick.” 

“Heeey, c’mon, think about that. You get to live, grow up, grow old, have a fun time shouting at kids because they’re on your lawn.” Michael explained with a grin, “In 20 years you’re going to look so much different than right now, and you’ll have a happy family, maybe some kids if you want ‘em.” He reveled in his little brother’s (not actual brother, but he was growing tired of differentiating the fact) smile. But it was Michael’s turn to frown, “Now me; I might live a bit longer, but I’ll look the same until I’m nearing the end. Of my natural life that is.” He sighed, “I mean, I look about the right age right now, I look young but not super young, that’s how most Survivors look, we don’t change. Think about me being a 70 year old man still looking like _this_!” 

JJ laughed out loud at that, “That’s weird.” Then they both shared in the laughter.

But after it got quiet again, suddenly JJ got anxious, “But what if I mess things up for myself? What if I fuck up?” He wondered, wringing his hands nervously.

“You’ll be fine…” Michael touched his chin in mock-contemplation, “You could dye your hair red.” He shrugged. JJ threw a weird look at him as he laughed at the suggestion, opening his mouth to talk- but he was interrupted by the sound of screaming from outside. 

Michael threw himself off the bed, pulled his jacket, belt, bandolier, shoes, and goggles on in quick succession, before JJ even climbed down from the top bunk; the older of the two was out of the room and at the front door and right away he saw the orange glow of, not the Sun, but a fire no more than 2 town blocks away. He grit his teeth and grabbed for his diamond sword sat against the wall; behind him, JJ and their mother ran up but Michael threw his hand up and made a motion for them to stay as he bolted through the front door, ignoring JJ calling his name as he retreated. 

People ran past him in rapid chaos that continued to spiral out of control as he neared where the fire was, his pupils constricted and his irises swirled from a rich brown to a warning auburn; something wasn’t right.

“Mogar!” A loud voice called for him and then someone grabbed his arm. He was jerked behind a wall and came face-to-face with a well-known baker from the east side of town, his face bleeding and bruised; rivers of crimson slipped over his lips and down his chin due to the stab wound to his gut. Michael recoiled in shock, eyes wide and scarred, he carefully took the older man’s arms and followed him as he weakly slid down the wall to the ground. “C-c-creators.” And then the man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp against the wall, a last spout of blood splattering Michael’s arms. 

His hands trembled as he slowly pulled away, bent knees cracking and forcing him back onto his behind, eyes locked onto the body before him. It was only when he heard a new level of screaming that he shook his head and jumped to his feet, sword clutched in his fist; he began to run through the rush of people, bumping shoulders and doing his best to keep his sword out of the way. Creators? What did that mean? Were those people? Michael had no idea, he came from the caves and relied on his family for what he understood; they’d never told him about anything other than Survivors, Adventurers and humans. His chest beat hard against his chest as he rounded the corner and nearly ran face-first into flames, he dug his heels into the gravel and threw himself in the opposite direction to void the fire.

Above him through the smoke against the midnight sky he saw _something_ fly by, the orange light of the flames catching a lengthy, brown fur-trimmed cape and the flash of silver in the dark. He grit his teeth and followed the multiple flying figures that began to appear silhouetted against the sky; wherever they went is where the screams began coming from and another fire started. The Sun was just beginning to crack over the horizon, turning the veil of black to midnight blue and slowly approaching yellow. 

“Hey…” Michael called as he watched the silver-decorated being land and grab a teenage girl by the collar of her shirt, and then throw her to the ground, drawing a sword and rearing his arm back. “ **Hey!** ” He strained his legs to sprint the few meters to defend the girl, jumping in front of her as the man’s sword was coming down, blocked by Michael’s own diamond sword and punctuated with a gut-curdling sneer. “What the fuck do you think you’re-“ He didn’t get to finish as the man flew up and launched down at him at a breakneck pace. Not knowing what else to do, Michael felt his survival instinct kick in and he moved away at the last possible second and chopped down with his sword on the man’s neck. 

He opened his eyes to see the caped-stranger rubbing his almost-severed neck, the gold blood seeping through his fingers and into his white-collared shirt; Michael couldn’t believe his eyes, he began stepping back in shock, hands trembling once again. He had been so sure he just killed the man. “Who are you?” He managed to force out, holding his sword readily in front of him. However the stranger seemed to be distracted by taking the girl up by the collar again, as well as an older boy who happened to run by; he threw a disdainful glare at Michael before flying towards the middle of town with the two teens in-hand. 

Confused and worried, Michael followed, able to see now that the sunlight was catching the Earth and lighting the sky; he had to take a longer route to avoid the fires, breathing heavily and trying to ignore the blood on his hands and the bodies lying strewn about. Suddenly a fierce pain enveloped his entire skull, he felt a spatter of his own blood and the crackling sensation in the back of his head before things went dark.

_._

Waking up was possibly more painful than being knocked out, as he woke up when he was dropped to his knees to the rough gravel in the town center. His vision was blurry and unfocused for a few minutes, and the voices around him were nothing more that inaudible mumbles in the haze; but he could differentiate the screaming cries above all else. A mix of dizziness and pain caused Michael to wretch, doubled over on himself and waiting for the paroxysm of pain to subside. Someone grabbed the back of his hood and jerked him back upright much to his dismay. 

“ _Nnhh,,,_ Le’ggo ‘f me.” Michael struggled weakly, trying to use his hands to support himself, but finding they were tied behind his back. Again someone grabbed him, this time from the front, and within a moment a fist connected with his face, he felt a crack behind his lips, which were now split and bleeding, and he spit out a mix of blood, saliva, and the chunk of tooth that was broken off. He tried to glare up at whoever did it but his head was still swimming. 

“Oh god, mom!” Michael heard the familiar voice cry out, “ **Mom!** ” He strained his head to look at the figures centered in town square, he listened to a gut-wrenching squelching sound and one of the figures dropped to the ground. The voice from before hollered and began to openly sob, coupled with other voices already crying. “No, no no, Michael!” The same voice called out again, just before Michael felt himself get pulled up; the rush of movement cleared his vision and he was face-to-face with a narrow, sickly visage, dotted with pale grey eyes and topped with a scratched silver crown. The _Creator_ from before, Michael supposed. 

The stranger smirked at him, “Look who’s awake; the runt that tried to be-head me.” His voice was nasally and aggravating on his pounding head, so much so he could barely feel the pain in his legs from being hauled across the courtyard. Michael used what energy he could muster to jerk away, to no avail. 

“Wait! Wait, Heyman!” Michael looked around when their forward motion stopped; he saw JJ knelt on the ground with the other townspeople, with the body of- 

“Oh god.” Michael felt bile rising in his throat, but he forced it back down. “M-Miss Jones?” He felt tears on his eyelids as he looked at the bloodied body, “M…mom?”

“Kara here,” The stranger dropped him to the ground and someone else began dragging him back, “Watch him for a moment.” He only watched as the stranger trudged away towards his brother. 

“Yes Joel.” The blonde woman above him nodded.

Joel snatched JJ by his top hair and began pulling him across the town center, ignoring the young man’s pleas to release him; Michael struggled against Kara to pull himself free, but she was resilient and kept hold of him, keeping him on his knees in the gravel. “Stop!” He screamed as Joel reached what he was using as his slaughter-spot, the blood already there staining JJ’s beige pants. His younger brother looked at him pleadingly, eyes wide and red from crying, but he looked angry and vengeful; Michael tried again to get to his feet, but Kara moved in front of him and socked him in the nose, throwing him back for a moment. He felt the blood slipping from his nostril a moment later. 

It happened so quickly, Joel had JJ held up by his hair and an iron sword pressed to his neck; no one’s cries seemed to faze the Creator. “Michael, I’m sorry!” JJ cried, eyes screwed shut.

Michael shook his head, tears falling in heavy rivulets down his cheeks, “What do you mean sorry? You were the best br-“ The spatter of blood was wide, and Joel only chuckled as the body fell over with the neck only half-severed, “ **NO!** ” Michael sobbed angrily as the blood spray caught him; again he wretched, purging his stomach’s limited contents off to the side. His body shook violently and he tried again to get free, with renewed vigor he got to his feet, but Kara and another stranger jumped him, one of them plunged a dagger into his shoulder to force him back down. Into the now silent morning Michael screamed, his face and clothes stained with blood and tears: he had no idea what else to do.

_._

The Sun was high in the sky, beating down on his exposed, and now sunburned neck; he was moments from passing out, he could feel it, from what he did not know, but he wasn’t willing to hold out anymore. The pain, both physical and emotional pulsed through him nonstop, not letting him rest or stop crying; every so often he would stand, pace around, punch something until his knuckles bled, then kneel in the gravel, letting his bloody knees get more scratched by the rocks. He laid a hand gently on the side of his sister’s face, deceptively peaceful in her premature death; he was only able to recall the cast-slurs towards her being an Adventurer, not her laugh or smile, or the way the afternoon before he had been playing with her in their living room. 

Footsteps caught his attention and he looked up to see a group of traveling merchants from his village, returning home, packs packed tightly with goods, mules weighed down with materials strapped onto their backs. They look around in shock, half of them covering their mouths while the others advanced towards Michael, the only one alive, with anger fueling the fire in their eyes. 

In a panic, Michael stood up, taking his sword in hand weakly, “Hold on.” He held out a hand to ward them off. “I know it looks bad, but-“ One of the women ran forward and slashed a sword at him; he barely had time to move before she attacked again, this time with one of the men attacking with her. He felt tears on his cheeks again, “Please,” He nearly sobbed, “Please I didn’t-“ One of his attackers landed a clean slice across Michael’s chest, cutting through his jacket and to his skin. He exclaimed in pain then began backing up, turning and stumbling into a sprint; he kept running until he hit the forest, and even then he kept going. He still had no idea what to do, he was so scared. 

_._

Michael had a sword pressed to the man’s neck, while the man had a sword poised against his gut; they stood motionless for a few minutes, heavy breathing reverberating off the cobblestone walls of the temple. The stranger wore jade green armor, and his eyes looked tired; but what was truly annoying to Michael was the fact he would not stop smirking, it wasn’t even cocky, the idiot was just smirking, _for no goddamn reason_. “Do you want to kill me?” The stranger wondered, nothing but passive interest in his tone. 

For a moment, Michael thought, “I never _want_ to kill, but sometimes you have to.” He replied. 

The stranger hummed, shrugged and dropped his sword, putting his hands up and waiting quietly. Michael, somewhat confused, lowered his own sword, looking the peculiar stranger up and down; not understanding why he trusted the older man. “Geoff,” The other held out his hand, which Michael took carefully, “Geoff Ramsey.” 

“Michael.” The Hunter greeted. Geoff nodded, evidentially waiting for a last name, but Michael didn’t really have one, he wasn’t born knowing it like the others he’d met. He hesitated, looking down at the mossy stone floor before he looked up, “Jones.” The name caught in his through but Geoff didn’t seem to notice, “Michael Jones.”

“Sorry if I scared you there Michael.” Geoff said as he began to gather his discarded items. 

Michael chuckled dryly, stowing his sword in its holster on his back, “I don’t get scared.” _Anymore_ , he added to no one but himself.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday; this was a very stressful week but hey here's another chapter, it was p fun writting and I hope you enjoy! 8)  
> ((off to see Godzilla's for opening night today, so excited))  
> Also if I haven't plugged myself enough; you should definitely check out my tumblr at queenechidna.tumblr.com, I post updates about Exacting Denouement and other things in general and you can go to ask me questions or headcanon jam with me whenever 8)

“Woah woah woah, wait! _Wait_!” Ryan scurried around the group and stood in their path, hands pushed out in defiant restraint. Michael was at the head of the group and sneered at him when the kilted man almost touched him, “You’re leaving already? You…you can’t, Gavin is still hurt and Geoff is still sick!” He pointed out.

Behind them Geoff shrugged, “I feel fine dude.” 

“And my leg only hurts a little now; the springs really helped!” Gavin chirped with the first real smile they’d seen in a few days. Ryan stared at the group and sighed, scooting aside as they headed towards the eastern path back down the mountains and towards the valley on the other side of the mountains. 

Ryan had his resolve, normally saving it when he needed to pull himself out of a warm bed and leave some kind woman’s household before the first light of day, to protect the family of course; but he was the first to admit he liked the idea of home. Of family; he mentally smacked himself for being so pathetic.

He wrung his hands together nervously before he felt a hand on his shoulder; Jack smiled kindly at him and ushered him forward, and despite not wanting to, Ryan resisted and gained an odd look from the good-natured architect. “I,” Ryan hesitated, “I don’t want to bother you.” He spoke softly, pulling himself almost out of Jack’s reach. 

Geoff turns back to them, as did Gavin- Ray looked back but averted his gaze quickly; the oldest of the group shuffled the packs on his back, “You wanna come with us Ryan?” Geoff wondered, and in front of them Michael groaned loudly and threw his head back in exaggerated exasperation. 

Gavin seemed to jump at that, “Yeah yeah we’ll be the terrifying 6!” He pointed out excitedly. Michael turned around, crossed his arms, and quirked an eyebrow at the group, “We’ll be…uhm….6 hunters?” He stopped, “Hunting for achievement?”

“Achievement hunters?” Jack put in a bit confusedly.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Yeah sure!” Gavin laughed giddily, turning back towards Ryan, “C’mon Ryan.” But Ryan only stood still, looking at the ground, not saying anything; until he smiled and nodded. This, Gavin was elated by, Michael and Ray not so much.

While the air was still cold and there was still snow below the cloud line, the storm seemed to have moved on and they were all content with traveling in comparably tropical weather now. The Sun poked through the clouds just enough to let them know it was about midday, which Michael was not happy about- having intended to get an early start. The Hunter stormed in front of them all, many paces ahead of his next closest trailer, who was Gavin, then Ryan, Geoff, Ray, and Jack. 

The ginger in the back took his eyes off the northern mountains and placed them on his partner in front of him, the wooden hoe clipped onto the younger man’s back was sagging with his shoulders; Jack quirked his head and jogged to catch up, and walk next to the Adventurer, gently resting his hand on Ray’s upper back, “Hey bud what’s wrong?” He asked.

Ray looked up at him in surprise at first, turning his arm at a somewhat awkward angle to touch Jack’s arm, “Nothing.” Jack looked at him crookedly, picking out the lie immediately, but straying away from the topic for his partner’s sake. 

Lying seemed futile in Ray’s mind, he knew Jack caught his lie the moment it left his lips, the way the ginger’s eyes looked down sadly and his arm slipped from his back were very telling; he hated making Jack feel so betrayed, even in the lightest sense, but he understood how hard a gentle heart can take the smallest offense. But there was nothing Ray could do at the time, he had nothing to explain, nothing to share with his partner; he wasn’t even sure what was wrong. Beyond Geoff, Ray’s stare bore into the back of Ryan’s head, distrust and anger laced into his expression; he blamed their new _friend_ for his mood, and therefor Jack’s mood. 

He tapped on his leg agitatedly, looking away when he thought Ryan was going to look back. One of those instances had his turning his head to the right, when his expression softened upon seeing Jack catching the occasional snowflake in his palm, smiling contently and wrapping his grey scarf around his other hand. Behind the mask, exhaustion-dulled eyes swirled to a rich chocolate again, calling upon old memories for comfort in the chill of the day; he smiled broadly, trying his best to hide it from his partner. 

_._

_”Ray.” The hushed voice ushered him into consciousness. Ray cracked his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing himself up, greeted by the wide-awake and smiling face of Jack. “C’mere!” He urged excitedly, walking hurriedly towards the door of their cabin. Although tired, Ray smirked and shook his head before slipping out from under the covers and following his excitable friend, but not before snapping his cape into place around his neck and carefully putting his mask on over his eyes._

Ray was jerked out of his mind for a moment, just long enough to acknowledge Michael yelling at them all to move faster, put a hand on Jack’s back and guide him forward at a quickened pace.

_The Sun wasn’t even visible in the sky when Ray stepped out of the house, finding Jack knelt behind the shrubbery just along the edge of the nearby meadow. He stalked closer and knelt to Jack’s right, following his gaze to a heard of horses less than a quarter kilometer away. “Look how pretty they are.” Jack mumbled with light in his green eyes, “I’ve never seen horses until now, Burnie only ever told me about them.” Ray grinned warmly at the other man. He’d only known the ginger for about a year, and he was still trying to figure it out ; he himself was so young but felt so old and tired, while Jack had only been around for 7 years, but that was 7 years of pain, yet he was so eager to do and learn. It was bizarre, but Ray shrugs, preferring to admire his friend happily ogling the animals._

Again Ray came-to, this time he was being led down a steep cliff side, Gavin was tumbling in front of him, gaining his footing only to lose it a second later; behind him he heard Geoff laughing and Michael talking to himself about what an idiot the accented young man was. 

_A shadow was just noticeable along the open grass in the faint light of the morning, and Jack ducked reflexively while Ray had the gut reaction to run- but remained in place, hand latched onto Jack’s arm. The fear in the ginger’s eyes spoke novels, and suddenly Ray was very afraid, “Jack?” He whispered, “What was that?” Maybe he was just being over-cautious; it was probably just a bird._

He noticed the air was not nearly as cold anymore, and the furs trapping his warmth against him were suddenly working _way_ too well, and the Sun was shining prominently through the thinning white clouds, warming his almost sickly pale skin. In his peripheral he saw Gavin dramatically pulling off his fur wrap and rolling up his not-cut pant leg, jerking his scarf looser on his neck. Geoff also seemed a bit warm, unstrapping his fur cloak and tossing it on top of his backpack. He was grateful that he could feel all his limbs again, however the new thaw brought with it the pain in his legs and arms that was previously numbed by the chill in his bones.

_”Creators,” Jack mumbled, trying to keep his voice even. He reached out towards Ray, grabbing onto his arm when one of the horses whinnied loudly and caused the entire group to scatter. On the ground before them more shadows zipped over the landscape. The horses were being shot at, flaming arrows hitting the beasts in their hearts and heads, though some were not so lucky and suffered fatal burn wounds and tried their hardest to limp away. “Come on.” Jack’s voice was shaky as he quickly led Ray away, just as the people flying above them landed amongst the slaughter. In vain Ray wondered why they would do that, wondered why they could fly and he couldn’t; what were they?_

Finally Jack helped him maneuver the fur shall/cape combo off his shoulders and into one of the already overstuffed bags. Ray looked around, a bit confused as to when they’d entered the woods, but shrugged it off in place of thanking his partner for the help.

Michael smacked at Gavin’s hand again, and the younger man whined pathetically as his right leg was lifted up uncomfortably again and rested on the Hunter’s shoulder as he took a bit of gauze to the re-opened wound, dabbing around and on the cut, making Gavin wince and struggle against his hold. The strain pushed more rivulets of blood from the cut that dripped down Michael’s hand, “Asshole.” Gavin growled, and Michael smirked. 

Ryan, on his part, had been watching the group de-fur themselves, stuffing it all away and replacing it with missing armor bits they had removed to accommodate the extra girth the pelts gave. Gavin had thoroughly pried away his winter clothing and tossed it haphazardly as he was scrambling down the mountain; none of the oddly green colored furs were anywhere to be seen.

Against a flimsy looking tree Geoff rested for a moment, fixed his backpack whilst he let out a few coughs that rattled the pans hanging from a latch on the bag; he straightened his back and smirked up at the now blue sky, speckled with clouds while the chirping of birds greeted the newfound warmth on his wind-burned face. “Alright guys let’s get going, the jungle isn’t going to get to itself.” He prompted and began walking east and away from the recently conquered mountains. Michael shrugged on his blue bag and stepped in pace with his boss, however no one else was in much of a hurry to move.

“Hang on,” Ray spoke up, “We need to stop here. Jack and I need to mine.” He explained, all but awaiting the violent backlash. And it seemed as though Michael wasn’t going to let him down; shoulders tensed and eyebrows angling downwards, but Geoff was the first to make a move, letting out a long groan while he dropped his stuff and followed it down to lean against it, eyes closed almost immediately. The Hunter looked back crookedly at him but sighed in a noticeably aggressive manner, dropping everything that wasn’t his blue pack and sword, and stormed off into the forest further. No one said anything about it, merely let him walk away. 

While Ray and Jack unpacked and pulled helmets, one red and one blue, out of their bags, along with an iron pickaxes and one diamond one; both of which Jack carefully handled as he clipped them to the back of his bandolier, Gavin put his stuff down next to Michael’s things and kept his bow and quiver with him. He looked at the weapon in his palm uneasily, then craned his neck to look at the newly bandaged gash on this leg he knew was there, and finally reached a deft hand up to touch the soft leather eye patch over his right eye; he sighed before reaching into his pocket, tugging out a folded piece of parchment and carefully prying it open.

Geoff watched him through one cracked eye as the younger man walked over to a tree and pinned up the paper then trekked back away from it; on the paper was a crudely drawn few rings, of varying colors, and riddled with little holes and a couple tears. It wasn’t hard to discern that Gavin was going to practice his archery, so Geoff turned his half-caring gaze at Jack and Ray, now seemingly double-checking everything. 

“So why d’ya need to go mining?” Gavin wondered before Geoff could voice his query. 

“Minerals would be nice” Ray began, tugging at the straps of his cherry colored helmet, aggravated by the biting burn of the leather against his chin, “But we need lava mostly.” 

Gavin knocked an arrow, focused on the target, “Why?” He asked, letting an arrow fly and hit the 3rd ring of the target. 

“Obsidian.” Jack added in. Both he and Ray turned towards the rocky base of the mountain.

“Why?” Another arrow haphazardly left his bow. 

Ray sighed, “We need to make a Nether portal.”

This time Gavin squeaked and the arrow he had knocked flew off into the woods, “Why?!” He screeched. Even Geoff sat up to look weirdly at them. “Why would you need to go _there_ , it’s literally the last place-“

“I know exactly what it is Gavin,” Ray snapped, reaching over and nudging Jack back and towards the mountain while he strode forward to face the taller man, “Don’t pester us on this topic, we’re doing this for your gain as much as ours, and trust me _we don’t want to_.” Ray’s voice was dangerously near a growl, and he glared through his mask at the Archer, “I can only hope you’ll help up when the time comes.” And he turned and strode away, catching up to Jack who had waited for him a few meters from the rock face they had been headed for. His cape trailed behind him like a stressed black river and Gavin had half a mind to- do exactly what he was doing as he pulled back an arrow and let it fly towards the ground, snagging the Adventurer’s cape, therefor jerking Ray back. 

The masked man made a noise of disapproval, and Gavin giggled playfully, quite enjoying the joke, and Ray seemed okay with being victim, a sarcastic grin coming along with a shake of the head. But the smirk disappeared when Ray found the arrow unmovable in the ground, very quickly his expression switched to one of embarrassment and underlying shame; Gavin also stopped smiling, quirking his head with a confused look. 

Jack jogged over and laid a gentle hand on his partner’s back, leaned down, and effortlessly pulled the arrow out of the dirt and off Ray’s cape; the ginger glared the Archer down before they both turned away again. 

Gavin suddenly seemed to realize his mistake and shoved the bow up his shoulder and used his free hands to grab handfuls of his own hair, “Oh shit, Ray I’m sorry I didn’t think- I..I forgot I’m sorry!” But Jack had already led them both through a crack-like cave in the mountain and out of sight, the tail end of his cape catching the mid-day light.

There was a moment where everything was silent, until Geoff grunted as he stood, stretching his back to hear the worrisome crackling of his spine. A sarcastic chuckle filled the air and Geoff smacked Gavin on the back, jostling the disgruntled your man, “Nice job dude.” 

Ryan sighed, and continued climbing into the tree he was poised in, once he knew the canopy of leaves concealed him, he kicked off a branch and floated upwards through the tangled mess of tree limbs; above the trees he looked up at the warming mid-day sun and smiled, shutting his eyes and taking it in. But something flashed behind his eyelids and he curled into himself, no longer looking up; he rifled at the cuffs of his shirt and jacket, loosening them and jerking back his sleeve, running calloused digits over old scars and one large one on his forearm that resembled a deep-scarred ‘H’. 

Seemingly without consent, he floated backwards until his backside bumped into a tree branch, and het sat on it, listening to the faint creek of the tree that came with his weight. He shut his eyes tightly and kept his hand over the letter, opening them and removing his hand simultaneously; averting his gaze when he found reality intact and his scars still there.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a filler chapter to teach you guys a bit more about Jack's character since he's the best irl and my favorite character to write for. I've got a compiled list of each problem the guys have and some of Jack's include PTSD, chronic anxiety/anxiety attacks, and night terrors, I haven't really written in much for his bad dreams but I think I've mentioned it before.
> 
> Anyway hope you enjoy this chapter and thanks so much for reading 8D

Ryan’s decision remained raw at the front of his skull, the heat there manifested as sweat on his brow as he slowly glided through the caves, lighted just enough with burning torches to ward away anything that might find solace in the dark. Rounding a bend he saw blood spatters and the body of a medium-sized spider lay off to the side of the path, two sets of red footprints tracked further into the cave; Ryan swallowed nervously and flew on, trying laboriously to stay centered in the cave, breath shallow and hurried as Ryan was not crazy about confined spaces. 

He wrung his hands together nervously feeling them shake beneath his own palms, his chest felt tight and he moved one hand there to tug nervously at the lapels of his jacket while the other hand moved up and ran through his damp, stringy hair, pushing it off to his right. Soon enough the footprints were no more and only the torches remained, more scattered now than they were before, but Ryan pushed on, knees curled up against him just a bit as he flew out of nervousness. 

Listening intently to the only sounds audible, drips of water and the scurrying of rats echoed off the rock and bounced around until Ryan was turning around and around because he thought there was a sound behind him- but then it was in front of him again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a shape move, he turned; nothing, he flew forward faster until the sound of rock-on-rock scared him, forcing him to float higher in the cave and cover his ears with his hands. Without consent his body moved for him, floating down until he was sat in a heap against the cave wall, breath heavy and sweat more prominent on his forehead.

But he heard another sound, another sound that sounded a lot like his breathing but more labored and frantic, marked with weak sobs that caught the walls of the cave and echoed around, distracting Ryan from his own crippling claustrophobia. He stood up, dusting off his kilt and pulling the end of his jacket to straighten it out, then he proceeded to follow the torches a few more meters into the cave until he came across a man-made tunnel, which he again followed until a light at the end got him to stop before he reached the opening.

The sound from before was closer and he heard a voice to go along with it. He edged himself close to the opening and peeked out to the left, sighing inaudibly when he saw Jack and Ray.

“Shh, Jack you’re fine, it’s gonna be fine.” Ray was whispering to his partner, holding his face between his hands from his place knelt in front of the ginger. Jack’s eyes were shut and teary; one hand grasped onto Ray’s shoulder, the other pressed up against the side of his head. His breathing was heavy and he wasn’t responding to Ray’s calls- Ryan dared to inch his way out of the tunnel and stop a ways behind Ray, feeling horrible for intruding but too frazzled to go back. “He’s having a panic attack Ry’.” Ray stated matter-of-fact, glancing back at the kilted man. “You have any water on you?” 

Ryan went to talk but decided it would be better to check his bag, to root through the crumpled papers, metal charms and a book or so until he found a half-full glass bottle crammed into the bottom corner and pulled it out. Ray snatched it from his hand and knelt back down by Jack; he set the bottle down and cupped his partner’s face again, running his thumbs under Jack’s eyes and making him look at him. “Hey buddy you’re alright; here.” He lifted the bottle into view and waited for the ginger to reach out and take it in his shaky hand, waiting even longer until he drank some of it. 

With a relieved sigh, Ray smiled and sat back on his haunches, “You’re alright. No one is making you go in, okay?” Jack nodded and sniffed, tugging his knees closer to his chest to hide his face. 

The Adventurer’s brown eyes were turned on Ryan next looking angry, “The hell are you doing here?” He wondered with malice in his voice. 

Ryan recoiled, drawing his hands together nervously, looking everywhere but at the angry young man in front of him, “I just thought since you’ve been gone since yesterday that you could use help-“

“Yeah well I-“ He coughed, “We don’t need your help, we were on our way back up, okay?” He turned and put his hands on Jack’s upper arms and helped him to his feet, hand on his back as they headed back through the tunnel.

Ryan followed guiltily, listening worriedly to Jack’s spastic breathing and Ray’s hushed murmuring; he had no idea what to do other than trek quietly behind them, avoiding the crippling claustrophobia forcing his heart to beat faster and faster inside his chest. The clacking of rocks on rocks startled him as it had before, but he looked up to see the pack stuffed full of obsidian on Jack’s back. After a moment Ryan jogged forward and hooked his hands under the straps running over his friend’s shoulders; Jack craned his neck to look back, letting the bag slip off his back into Ryan’s hands. Bloodshot green eyes shone back at him, “Thank you.” He murmured with a small smile. 

In response Ryan nodded, also smiling, softly as to not be overbearing; but Ray caught his stare, an angry look still plastered underneath the white mask; a distinct expression of _Don’t touch him_ was plainly evident so Ryan let himself fall a few paces behind the two. 

Every little sound reverberated within the cave as they walked; their footsteps, their breath, the pickaxes and shovels hanging off of the bag Ray had on his back, the entire cave spelled faintly of blood and mildew and was in no ways pleasant: Ryan’s nose crinkled against the odor. 

“I’m sorry Ray.” Jack mumbled in a shaky voice. Quietly Ryan watched Ray move his hand to the small of the ginger’s back, picking out the little body motions that followed as he comforted his friend; the way he looked straight at Jack while Jack looked around seemingly bashfully, and how Ray rubbed small circles onto his back- all very comforting a familiar. Ryan figured Jack was not stranger to anxiety, which was provable by recalling the nervous habits he’d observed in the younger survivor in the previous days; his pacing and nervous foot-tapping, not that the others weren’t prone to that as well, but their resident architect seemed especially concerned about something or other. 

“-so don’t feel bad, okay?” He heard Ray finish his talk and Jack chuckled; why he didn’t know, he hadn’t been listening. “ _Ow-_ ” Ray hissed and his left leg buckled enough for Jack to grab at him in worry. “I’m fine,” Ray said through partially gritted teeth, and pushed Jack off of him, stumbling until he forced his leg back underneath him, “I’m _fine_.” He insisted. Jack put his hands up and stepped back while maintaining a close proximity. The youngest of the three knelt down and gripped at his left ankle, straining himself to support weight on it.

With concern in his face Jack knelt down as well, “You okay bud’? I thought you said you were okay before.” He wondered worriedly, trying to help Ray back up but was swatted at, so he backed off. “Here, sit down, please.” It seemed as though Ray turned his head to shout but upon seeing Jack’s pleading expression he digressed and sat against the cave wall, exhaling a long breath upon doing so. 

Ryan was hesitant but he stepped forward, “I can help if you’d like. I can set it before things get worse.” He offered helpfully, fully expecting to be shouted at for doing so.

Surprisingly, Ray nodded carefully, “You better know what the fuck you’re doing.” He grumbled and let Ryan begin prodding at his crooked ankle, cursing a wincing when it was appropriately. 

_._

“And Gavin just falls right onto his face- now you gotta understand at this point Geoff has just completely kicked his ass without breaking a sweat and Gav is completely covered in mud from being tossed around and he’s whining, and rolling around on the ground; at this point Geoff is dying of laughter, when Michael walks over, picks the idiot up and sticks him in a tree.” Ryan laughed along with Jack’s story, “And Gavin whined for 30 minutes because he was too scared to get down on his own.” 

Ray winced as Ryan jostled his leg in his laughter, glaring daggers at the kilted man, but his expression went unseen because he was too focused on Jack; which alone was aggravating Ray. 

Turning back to his busted leg, Ryan’s laughter died out and he looked very solemn until he finally worked up the nerve to speak, “So why do you want to go to the Nether?” He wondered. 

Jack sat with his legs crisscrossed and smirked sarcastically, “ _Want_ , would not be a term I would use for the necessity of going.” He looked down and pulled one of the empty bottles off his bandolier, “I’ve been out of Netherwart for a couple months, I wasn’t able to help everyone when they were hurt even though it was my job-“

“It wasn’t your responsibility.” Ray assured. 

Jack shook his head, “But I could’ve helped had I just had the ingredients I needed. So I need to go to the Nether to get Netherwart, and hopefully a Gast tear or two, but I won’t get my hopes up.” 

Having set the bone in Ray’s ankle, Ryan sat back and looked crookedly at the ginger, and apparently it was enough for Jack to understand his confusion, “Netherwart brews awkward potions, and Gast tears turn that into potions of regeneration, and with the melon we’ve been reserving I can make potions of healing.” The kiddy resonance of Jack’s voice made Ryan smile, which then made Ray glare at him even harder. 

“And why are you so afraid to go?”

In his peripheral he saw Ray twitch and Jack froze up before him, “Ryan, don’t.” Ray nearly growled but his partner waved him off. 

There was silence, it always seemed as though silence was dragged out between members of their group when there was something to be said, weather it was all for dramatic effect, or because it was time to compose thoughts and daring alike. Whatever it was, it always made Ryan’s chest flutter nervously, recalling all-too well the silence from his childhood and from his solidarity that brought about nothing but negative connotations. 

Jack tapped nervously on his knee, eyes darting around the cave until he breathed in deeply and straightened his back, “I was spawned there, in the Nether.” He said quietly.

Astonished, Ryan froze, eyes wide as his hearth leapt into his throat at the thought of living there for any amount of time, “My god Jack,” He murmured, hand on his head. 

Jack shrugged with a half-hearted chuckle, pulling away his scarf and showing off the burn scar tissue that began there and disappeared under his shirt, “3 years.” He explained, smirking when he saw Ryan focused on him in shock, “I was sure I was born to die, it was the only explanation. I was alone, there was no one else, not until halfway to my 4th birthday when I saw a group of survivors some in and die within the first few days.” He pointed out, “They were ill-equipped it was their own fault, but it was their portal that interested me.” 

Ray shifted position to rest his arms on his knees, “I had no real value placed on my own life at that point so I went through, with nothing to lose. Came out in the middle a field, the Sun was way too bright and the grass was so foreign but felt so wonderful when the softest comfort I’d had before was Soul Sand. Aside from that I remember crying for a couple hours,” He smirked bashfully, “I was just so happy, I had a chance at life.” Ryan smiled at him, half happy for him and half apologetic. Jack scratched the bridge of his nose, fixing his glasses there, “And about 4 years later I met my best friend in the world; this newly spawned Adventurer who nearly killed himself because he’s dumb.” Ray mock-punched his arm and laughed.

There was a loud crashing sound that rumbled through the cave, the suddenness of it sent Ryan into a panic and he threw himself against the wall, breath suddenly picking up pace as he grabbed at his ears. Jack followed him over and put an arm around the other’s shoulders, “It’s okay dude, it’s just thunder.” There was a quieter rumble that followed, and Ryan slowly pulled himself out of the ball-like position he was stuck in. Jack smiled softly at him and jostled his shoulder to ground him again, “You guys wanna head back?” He wondered and received a pair of nods.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I almost didn't get a post-worthy chapter done but I wrote a lot last night so yeah, go me.  
> Also I thought it was worth noting this is now over 100 pages in my ms word file so yea woo! 8D Hope you enjoy reading and thank you

Geoff pulled himself out of sleep when he heard a stray clap of thunder, prying his eyes open to look at the blue sky that was beginning to disappear behind incoming grey clouds; he rubbed his eyes and squinted through the haze, and thankfully Gavin was still stood a few meters away firing arrows at a tree and cursing when he missed the middle rings. He saw Ryan jogging out from the nearby cave with Ray and Jack in tow, both of whom stalked off somewhere behind the tree line with an axe lifted on Jack’s shoulder. With a groan and a few pops of overstrained bones, Geoff got to his feet and stretched his arms and back until he felt them go fuzzy from the over strenuous action. 

“You sleep too much.” He turned to his left where Michael was sat on top of a decaying stump that smelled faintly of mold, “You’re still sick.” He was carving away at a stick, molding the top to a dangerous point while running the tip of the knife over the expanse of the oak to create small twisting patterns. Geoff turned his head curiously at him, disregarding his previous comment; he watched for a minute as Michael violently shredded away the wood, not so much as flinching when the knife nicked his thumb.

“You okay bud?” Geoff wondered.

Surprisingly Michael dropped the shredded wood, keeping the knife clenched in his right fist, “Since when have you called me ‘bud’?” He shouted. Across the way Gavin looked over but ultimately went back to his archery. “That’s what Pattillo calls Narvaez.” He growled.

Geoff scoffed with a sarcastic grin, “Since when have you called them ‘Pattillo and Narvaez’? They’re names are Jack and Ray.” 

“My point is we’re getting too close.” Michael concluded.

Geoff rolled his eyes, “C’mon Michael not this again.”

“It’s dangerous Geoff .” The Hunter mumbled, nervously tapping his foot. 

Sitting forward and put his hands on Michael’s knees, “Dude, calm down, I think we’ve lived through enough danger with them to keep them around.” He assured. 

Michael stood up, thereby removing Geoff’s grasp, “Barely.” He mumbled. 

Geoff stood up and quickly went after him, taking his arm and tugging him behind the tree line, all but ignoring the violent glare he got for manhandling the Hunter. “Hey,” He kept his voice level and relatively calm, “Listen, last I checked it was me who almost died from an illness. Mitosis- er, whatever Ryan called it.”

“Tuberculosis.” Michael corrected under his breath.

“The point is we’ve all been through shit, and honestly Michael- I’m tired of being alone.” He finally spat out, “It’s been just you and me for _19 years_. Like; that’s longer than Jack and Ray have even been alive.” He let go of Michael’s shoulders and drew back, crossing his arms, “And it’s been nice having the others around. I know you’ve enjoyed it too. The way you pick on Gav, and smile when Jack tells a joke.” 

“So?”

Geoff scoffed again, “Michael, you never smile so casually, or you haven’t until the last few weeks.” He looked back out at the clearing where Gavin was stood, watching as Ryan strolled over and began giving him pointers. He smiled fondly, “They’re out fam-“

“ **Don’t** say that word.” Michael hollered, pushing his Boss away from him and into the nearest tree. Geoff didn’t say a word, but he knew the story; he knew he’d pushed a button by trying to stray that far. Before him Michael stood with his shoulders tense and fists shaking under their own strain, his chest was beginning to heave and cheeks flushing red; Geoff hesitantly stepped up as one would approach a sleeping bear, reached out and cupped the sides of his face, forcing him to look up, swallowing his insecurities and fears in relation to the shorter, but easily more lethal survivor. He tugged narrowed, but saddened auburn eyes up to meet his own, and Geoff sighed, “I’m sorry kid. I’m sorry I didn’t mean it, I know nothing will replace your family-“

Michael shoved him off, head tilted towards the ground and hood sagging down over his eyes, “I don’t need your pity Geoff.” He said breathily. 

“You need someone to give a shit.” Geoff pointed out, this time taking the Hunter’s shoulders, “And I give a shit, you’ve got a slew of people who give a shit now. You need to trust them.”

“Like I trusted the people in my village?” Michael shouted, beginning to sound angry. 

Geoff sighed, “That’s not-“

“Like I trusted people? I came from the caves and these _people_ showed me kindness, _people_ taught me love, and _people_ killed my family. So no, Geoff, I don’t ‘need’ to trust anyone, it’s never gotten me anywhere.” He finished and began to walk away.

Geoff watched him retreat, the sword clattering against his back, footsteps loud thumps against the ground, “You trust me.” He mumbled, only half-meaning for Michael to hear. But he did hear, and stopped, turning his head to listen more. “Right?” Geoff continued seeing as though all eyes were on him. 

Turning, Michael took a moment, but nodded in affirmation. “I’ve saved your ass, I’ve kept you safe.” Geoff mentioned. 

Michael chuckled, “It was more of a combined effort.”

Geoff reached over and mock-punched his arm, “Yeah, y’see? We’re a team. And maybe it will take a while for you to trust the others but it’ll be fine. They’re good people.” He promised. 

Michael leaned back against a tree with his arms crossed, looking skeptical, “How do you know, Ramsey?” He wondered, “How can you always tell?” 

Seemingly amused, the Boss answered, “I knew you didn’t want to kill me when we first met, didn’t I?” Having made his point Geoff turned back towards the clearing, just as a crack of thunder rang out. The two looked at the grey, overcast sky and back down when they heard a loud, sudden shout from nearby and ran over. 

_._

“The thing is it’s not like I don’t trust any of them,” Jack talked as he swung the axe against the base of a tree, “I’m just surprised we’ve grown close to the lot so fast. It’s kinda nice having friends.” He smiled broadly though he looked tired from chopping the wood. 

Ray grinned back, chest fluttering seeing his friend so contented, and now out of the cave where his anxiety had pushed him over the edge. He had initially planned to visit the Nether as soon as they had the obsidian, but he acknowledged Jack wouldn’t be able to handle it at the time being; so Ray sat on a nearby stump with water and some snacks if Jack needed them, fiddling with a wilting rose he happened to have in his pocket. 

“I’ve been skeptical of Ryan.” Ray admitted, looking away when Jack turned his gaze on him, looking concerned. “But I guess he’s okay. If you trust him.” Ray smirked, looking content enough with his careful decision. Like before there was a loud clap of thunder, and without thinking the masked man jumped to his friend’s side when he dropped his axe and backed against the nearest trees. Nearby there was a shout, and that distracted them both and had them running towards the source.

Gavin’s voice was audible before they rounded the last couple trees, shouting and panicking over the noise of other loud voices, “Holy shit.” Jack mumbled in shock when they came up to the group. 

Ryan was pressed against a tree, an arrow through the upper center of his chest, sufficiently pinning him there; he looked to be in a state of shock, starring down at the arrow sticking out of his chest. Geoff had his hands braced on Ryan’s arms, keeping them at his sides, “Hold on dude we have to be careful.” 

“I know.” Ryan said, his voice oddly even. He winced when Michael prodded at the protrusion.

“What happened?” Ray asked, worriedly taking in the sight. 

Geoff looked towards them, “The thunder scared Gav and made him shoot an arrow, and Ryan happened to be there.” Geoff explained exasperatedly, looking panicky himself though he was hiding it well. 

“We just have to pull it out.” Michael said, bracing his arm against the tree next to Ryan’s head. 

“Wait no that’s never good!” Jack pointed out.

“Then what do you suppose we do?” Michael growled. Jack had no answer so he crossed his arms and averted his gaze, taking a couple steps away as a precaution. 

Michael looked at Ryan and raised his eyebrows, “Okay?” He wondered, and Ryan shook his head.

“No it’s fine I can get it myself.” He muscled out through gritted teeth.

“Don’t be dumb.” Michael said and wrapped a fist around the arrow’s end and pulled. Ryan cried out in pain, which had both Jack and Gavin looking over from where they stood; Jack’s eyes went wide seeing the stream of gold that slipped from the puncture would. Geoff saw too and only had a few moments to be surprised before he had to act, jumping to his feet and throwing himself at Michael as the Hunter’s gaze went red and he was reaching back for his sword. Jack had to react similarly as he ran forward from where he stood to grab Ray when the shorter man began to advance.

“Michael stop-!” Geoff shouted, having to use his entire body to hold the Hunter back.

“You lied!” Ray screeched, struggling against Jack.

Ryan held the wound in his chest, “I never lied about anything.” 

Michael was able to wiggle free for just a moment, long enough to draw his sword and slash at Ryan, cutting him across the arm he tried to block with. “Michael stop!” Gavin screeched, stepping in front of the Hunter while Geoff held him from behind. 

“Ray please-“ Jack pleaded. 

“ _You!_ ” Ray growled and everyone looked towards him. There were tears in his eyes and his cheeks were an angry red, “Your people killed mine! And _you_ have the _audacity_ to pretend like you’re not one of them! You let us trust you; you cared for us when we couldn’t. What did you think you’d get out of it? Are you just waiting to kill us?”

“No, no I would never-“ Ryan tried to talk but was interrupted by Ray.

“We outta kill you!”

“Ray don’t-“ Jack was shut-off when Michael yelled out.

“Ray’s right!” He slashed wildly with his sword. 

“You’re being idiots!” Geoff yelled. 

“Why did you lie?”

“I didn’t lie!”

“Guys,” Gavin tried to get the group’s attention but was ignored. 

“Why are you still here?”

“You’re worse than any of your Creator ancestors!”

“Guys-!” 

“I’m not like the others I promise, I would never hurt you guys!”

“What bullshit!” Michael spat.

“-all the same!”   
“-nothing but garbage”   
“-kill-“   
“Screw you!” 

“Shut it!” Gavin finally worked up the energy to scream above the others and everyone fell silent. Michael was seething, as was Ray but the angry tears on his face took away from that factor, and Jack and Geoff looked exasperated, all the while Ryan looked sad and angry and hurt. Gavin breathed heavily for a moment until he was sure everyone was listening, though the silence was awkward and thick enough to cut with a plastic spoon. The Archer grinned crookedly, looking visibly worried, “Is anyone hungry?”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was fun to write especially since I got to show off some astronomy, I mean who doesn't love astronomy? And I think the next chapter I'm writing will be entertaining for everyone hopefully. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it 8D

With all manner of delicacy Jack moved Ray’s bangs out of his face, careful not to move and accidentally jostle his partner who had knocked-out with his head rested in Jack’s leg. Across the fire, Gavin turned his head curiously, for once with his attention not on the fire; he hugged his knees to his chest to curl against the night chill. Nearby he listened to the muffled argument going on between Michael and Geoff, ignoring how he would occasionally hear the clanging of metal and the tell-tale sounds of a scuffle. 

Ryan was backed off and sat against a tree barely in reach of the warm firelight, gaze focused intently on the sky with a neutral expression. The silence dragged on, without much more than the smoky smell of the fire and the chirping of crickets to elicit a response from any of their senses. Although Gavin determined that if he had a knife with him he could slice the tension and serve it on a sandwich.

Jack was humming almost inaudibly, reminding Ryan of lullabies he’d heard as a child, bringing up memories of his family; not necessarily good ones, but it made him think regardless. 

“So what’s it like for you guys?” Gavin asked after another half hour of silence, his voice perhaps too chipper in the night. He received a glare from the resident ginger as Ray stirred, beginning to wake somewhat fitfully before Jack placed a damp cloth on the younger man’s forehead until he calmed and awoke slowly. “Sorry,” The Archer mumbled pathetically. His response was a half-conscious wave from Ray as he sat up and stretched his shoulders. “I was wondering what it’s like for you guys?” 

Lowering his arms with a contented sigh, Ray straightened his mask before replying, “You mean what it’s like for a 3rd class freak and a Nether-born chemist? It’s pretty fucking hard.” It was easy enough to follow his gaze to where Ryan was sitting in self-proclaimed solitude.

“No, I mean,” Gavin held his hand out as if lost in thought until he seemed to find his words with a vague hand-gesture. “I mean for _you people_.” He concluded. Behind Jack and Ray, Michael came trudging out of the trees missing his sword, turned to glare at the group, before continuing his bee-line forward until fur-trim and bright shorts and all disappeared into the woods.

When he focused his attention back in front of him, he saw Jack peering at him curiously, “You have a funny way of making everything that comes out of your mouth sound offensive.” Jack pointed out with Ray to his right trying to hide a smirk. 

Exasperated and annoyed at himself Gavin made another motion with his hands, “No, sorry, I mean like you all, as in you are all part of the caste; people who weren’t born human. Like Survivors who just… _appear_. What’s it like?” Having finally gotten out a proper question he rested his chin on his knees and waited for an answer. 

Jack sat forward and wrung his hands together in contemplation, “Well, imagine being born but you don’t have a family and you’re on your own, but you have this approximate knowledge of everything and you usually appear to be at a prime point in your life no matter how young or old you actually are.” He smirked seeing the look of confusion on Gavin’s face. “Yeah. That’s how we all felt when we suddenly found ourselves alive.” He sat back on one hand casually.

“But not all caste members are spawned like we were, a lot are born like humans and inherent a dormant gene, or something like that. Turns out that Burns guy is pretty smart; explained it all last time we saw him.” Ray shrugged and rubbed at the back of his neck. 

Jack nodded, “Yeah it’s a whole lot of genetics and maybe one day we can sit down and have the ‘where Survivors come from’ talk. All you need to know is that it’s completely bizarre and near inexplicable.”

Silence fell again, but it was comfortable, and Ray even stopped glaring at Ryan in favor of staring at the sky with a small smile. Occasionally Jack would glance at his partner and follow his gaze to the speckled expanse above them where the moon sat in a slim crescent while the rest hidden in the shadow of the planet. Soon Gavin and Ryan were looking up as well, and made quiet comments as meteors began to skip through the upper atmosphere and left white trails there for a split second as they continued on. 

“They say shooting stars are a good sign, not only does it mean the universe is still spinning, but they are the souls of our loved ones, or those passed who don’t quite want to leave so instead float above just watching over us.” Ray explained contentedly. Through the flames Gavin looked at him crookedly but back up with the ghost of a grin on his lips.

“Y’think my brother is up there?” Three pairs of eyes were on him, two confused and one sad. 

Ray stammered for a moment, “Thought you said you didn’t have a family.” He pointed out and Jack nodded in equal misunderstanding. 

A shrug was the reply, “Technically I don’t, not anymore. But I had an older brother; died the day after my 25th birthday.” He didn’t seem angry or remorseful, just a bit sad. “Don’t apologize,” Gavin said with a soft grin, having seen Jack’s apologetic look, “It was his own fault, he went out at night with some girl and…well unarmed and inattentive in our part of the world-“ He chuckled dryly, “He was dead as soon as he walked through the forest gate.” He rested his elbow on his knee then propped his chin on his palm, “My only regret is not getting to say goodbye, he was my brother after all.”

Nearby and out of sight of the group, Michael’s steel-hardened look was gone and replaced with downcast eyes and a mouth drawn into a thin line. He roughly hit the tree he was leaning against with the side of his already clenched fist, mumbling something of an understanding under his breath. He dug his nails into his palm to keep his mind silent as it thought up vivid memories of his brother; he wanted to hit the kid for making his eyes prickle with tears he thought he could never shed again, but he knew it was no one’s fault but the Creators who brought the misery upon him initially. 

A glare was pointed at Ryan, sitting back away from the others looking angry and guilty and sad all simultaneously, Michael’s teeth ground together just by looking at him as a savage rage boiled in the pit of his stomach and his hand deftly touched his back where he was used to his sword being. He cursed Geoff quietly for confiscating his weapon like he was a fucking child who couldn’t be trusted.

And maybe he wasn’t to be trusted; if being trusted meant sitting by in the presence of a murderer and danger to their lives, then Michael didn’t particularly want to be trusted. 

Michael took a breath and slid down the tree until he was sat with his back pressed against the bark. He breathed, quickly at first due to his easily quickened heart rate but gradually was able to focus on the delicate scent of grass and pollen that agitated the his nose but reminded him of calmer times with Geoff when there was blood on his sword and he felt no guilt and he was content. _Content, not happy, never happy._ His closed eyes twitched and he breathed out slowly.

_._

“No no the big red dot, that’s Aldebaran, follow that over then towards Polaris and-“

“Oh yea I see it, it is like a sword!” Gavin interrupted Ray’s explanation with the biggest grin on his face.

Geoff chuckled, “The only one I know is if you look around the north pole you can see this one shaped like a house.” The older man said. 

“It’s not the north pole; it’s the 90 degree measurement on the meridian when you ‘re measuring the angle above the horizon . And that’s constellation is Cepheus, husband of Cassiopeia, both parents of Andromeda, and royal family of Aethiopia.” Ray explained, not taking his eyes off the sky. In the following silence Ray had to turn his head down to meet the surprised expressions from Geoff and Gavin.

Geoff put his hands up, “Remind me never to go against you on a space quiz.” Everyone laughed at that, and Ray looked the slightest bit embarrassed. 

Off against his tree Ryan tilts his head up to search for a constellations as well, some the same as Ray had been explaining, some vastly different, and others only slightly different from what he’d been told as a child. In his memory, Cepheus was indeed the king of Aethiopia (a golden age Creator kingdom in his stories) but Cassiopeia was a mistress who he would not marry due to her being a Survivor and a chronic liar, and when she was with child, Andromeda came into the world with partial (titled a mutt, half-breed, charcoal-blooded and all manner of derogatory slurs) Creator powers, and so the entire family was banished to the sky for eternity.

He listened to Ray’s story and decided he much preferred the Adventurer’s version; a kind Creator king married a lovely Adventurer queen and had a Survivor daughter who got herself into a load of trouble- as Survivors do- and upon their deaths Notch placed them in the sky to live on for eternity. For a long few hours he listened to Ray talk, Jack popping in occasionally to tell an hour long story of a particular star cluster; he appeared very enthralled by his tale of the Pleiades; 7 Adventurer sisters running from a mad creator king, the last Adventurers running for eternity. Ryan looked at Ray as Jack continued, he didn’t seemed faze; he knew he was the last, and was okay with that. 

“—you Ryan?”

Ryan looked up confused to see the four sets of eyes on him expectantly. He stammered before Gavin asked again, “How old are you?” 

“Oh-“ The Creator began, “Uh—“ He scooted forward just a bit, wary of the glare Ray had pointed at him. “I’m about _a h ndfg---_.” He mumbled and Gavin made an odd face.

“What was that?” 

Ryan was scared, if he was completely honest, he didn’t want to say it, he had a feeling it would evoke anger, “Out with it man.” Geoff urged, and Ryan panicked.

“A hundred and fifty this year.” He blurted out, wishing he hadn’t moved away from the tree. 

All was quiet, which is not _exactly_ what Ryan had expected but would take it over more yelling. For many minutes no one said anything, except maybe Gavin mumbling something to himself as he poked at the fire and tried to locate more constellations in the night sky. The smell of the fire was overwhelming now, sticking to their clothes and leaving smoky scents on their skin; pops and clicks from the hearth seemed to echo off the trees and back at them- it felt very empty though the forest was crowded. 

“You were alive when the last kingdoms were around.” Geoff pointed out quietly, half questioning it. “If the stories are true and the last one did fall 100 years ago, that is.” Eyes were back on Ryan. 

He shrugged but nodded, “110 I think, but yeah.”

Silence, again. 

“What was it like?” Ray asked, a significant lesser amount of hate in his tone, and more honest curiosity. This time everyone’s gazes were on the masked man who look little affected by the attention, “The kingdom you lived in what was it like?” There was an odd sort of desperation in his voice, like knowing was direly important though Ryan could see no reason why it would be. 

“I never said I lived in a kingdom.” He mumbled.

Ray scoffed softly, “Come off it. Every little Creator lived in a kingdom and fed off of the labor of others.” He said with malice, sitting up more straight and ignoring Jack when he put a hand on his shoulder to hold him back. “So tell me what it was like? You must’ve been pretty young, so you weren’t a king, maybe some important person’s son though, yeah?” He steeped his hands in front of his face in contemplation. 

“I, well, yes I wasn’t a king, I never wanted to be one.” Ryan scratched idly at the back of his head, “But yes I was an important person’s son.” He waved his hand, “But- that doesn’t matter. I’m not like my parents or anyone in my home.” Seeing the look of disapproval on Ray’s face he was near frantic to continue, “I tried to help your people, I know my word means nothing but I-“

“Just stop.” Ryan as well as Geoff and Gavin, were surprised to hear Jack speak up. The ginger had a hand on his partner’s back and a protective glare was focused on the Creator, green eyes looking dangerous for the first time since Ryan had met the man. “I’m not asking you…- _either_ of you to get along right away.” His voice was commendably calm and fair, “Ryan, I don’t want to hear what you did or did not do, you so heavily defending yourself as a singular person isn’t going to do any good.” He paused, “It’s never been about you.” 

Next to him Ray was looking down and away, possibly from the slight embarrassment for being defended, possibly to keep himself from adding to the speech. “Think about if the positions of the Creators and Adventurers were switched, and you were in Ray’s position; the last of a species killed off by the species of a person sitting right in front of you.” 

Gavin and Geoff looked at one-another and then down, feeling a bit awkward with no right to intrude upon the conversation that, frankly, they only understand about half of what was going on. 

“So what do you know?” Ray spoke up again after a few minutes of tense silence, and Ryan looked at him. The masked man sat forward and rested his elbows on his folded knees, “What do you remember?”

Ryan did not (never wanted to, hoped this question was never asked of him, would rather die than tell his story) know what to say. Did he remember? Did he _want_ to remember? Probably not, but his personal objections were deemed null-and-void for the time being: he owed these people something; he owed Ray something. He doesn’t remember it all, but he remembers enough. He thinks.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot to upload the chapter today wow, my bad. But this is Ryan's story time I hope you can follow it alright.
> 
> ((Also I'm graduating tomorrow I'm so pumped!!))

“He’s ugly.”  
“He looks nothing like any of us.”  
“Look at his hair, it’s practically orange!”  
“His eyes aren’t even green like ours.”

Their father shushed the 3 children, none older than 9 years old, they looked offended but sulked quietly while their mother ran manicured fingers over the newborn’s peach skin. “Come now my dears, your brother isn’t like you, he’s just a bit different.” She turned the bundle in her arms so her other children could get a look at the big eyes and brown-ginger locks already flipping in all directions.

“He’s got blue eyes like mummy and me,” The father, a tall man of intimidating stature, chortled and ran the pad of his finger along the baby’s cheek to which it cooed and giggled in response. 

The woman straightened her posture and re-tucked the baby’s blanket, “This is the sibling we’ve been telling you about, the one who will be king one day.” 

The apparent oldest of the three looked broken hearted, “But daddy you said _I’d_ be queen!” She whined, stomping her food on the stone bricks below. Her golden hair was in messy braids that flopped around during her little impromptu temper tantrum, but her father only smiled and knelt down to her, kissing her forehead and telling her that she would always be the little queen of his heart. Despite her attempts at looking annoyed, a grin broke out on the girl’s face and she complimented her father on his smoothness. 

“King Haywood,” There came a knock and very quickly a servant boy from the other room ran in to open the door, exposing a knight armored in full gold with red velvet draped over her chestplate, “The people are awaiting news of the new prince or princess.” She seemed fearful in the large man’s presence, though she herself was not a small person. 

Dismissively the king waved a hand, “Yes yes we’ll be right out to announce him.” He said.

A small smile crept over the knight’s features, “So it’s a young prince then?”

“Yes it is now go wait like everyone else!” The King shouted, making a step towards the door to scare the knight off. He huffed and returned to the grouping of his family with their attention still focused on the new baby. “Damn survivors, always sticking their noses in things.” He mumbled and the queen nudged him, a silent order to shut up. 

Outside there was the murmur of the crowd and trumpets that began to play, riling up the crowd even more as they rose to whistle and cheer in response. The king and queen looked at each other, then at their 4 children and nodded as they began to herd the 3 oldest out the doors. Quietly behind them, the queen smiled softly at her baby, wiggling her finger around above him as he grabbed and giggled in response to the little game. She remarked at his oddly colored hair, wondering how he’d gotten the browny-orange from herself and her husband; both very blonde. But she supposed it didn’t matter as he had the eyes of every Creator that had come before him, like herself, like her husband, and his grandparents, and so on. “Ryan,” She spoke quietly into the now silent hallway, kissing the baby on the forehead gently, “The future king; Ryan Haywood.” 

_._

The kilt was too large on him for years, so he began tying it with a bit of rope around his hips when he turned 9 because wearing those damned formal tunics was aggravating and he hated how they looked. His older siblings began to taunt him about his height and his hair color and his stout nose and round face; he didn’t quite understand why or what was wrong with him, so he stared at his reflection in the pond in the courtyard, wondering why he didn’t look like his family. 

Even though he was led around by his mother, and told he was of royal blood and was going to be king before his sister and two brothers, and that he was going to learn to fly soon and he would love it so much. Ryan wasn’t so sure about that; he rather liked being on the ground.

But he was wrong, apparently, because when the royal martial came to his tower chambers to begin his lessons, he was floating by sundown and able to propel himself forward just a bit. “Father, mother; look!” A young Ryan called joyously, zipping into the throne room, landing unceremoniously on his face before jumping back into the air and gliding up to the golden seat draped in red fabrics. 

His mother stood with a loving smile and flew to her son, grabbing him and spinning in the air, elating the child until he claimed to be getting dizzy and did the smallest mid-air flip to be out of his mother’s hold. Behind them, the King smiled fondly and clapped as his youngest child tried out small tricks in flight, ultimately failing every time but nevertheless giving it a good try. 

The doors at the other end of the room flew open and the gold-decorated knight Ryan knows from having been around his whole life; she has a dutiful look plastered on her otherwise soft features and behind her she drags a poor-looking man by the collar of his shirt. “My lord, I have an official order I’d like you to decree.” She states matter-of-fact, dropping the middle-aged man to the ground. 

“Ryan, leave.” The King spoke sternly, pointing towards the door to the right of the throne. 

Ryan looked at the villager then back up at his father confusedly, “But fathe-“

“Now!” His voice boomed in the vast room and startled Ryan, as he tucked his legs up at the sudden noise. From somewhere unseen, his sister, the eldest now at no more than 17 years, ran out and scooped her floating little brother and made a hasty exit but not before casting a glare at their father. 

Ryan pushed himself to look up over his sister’s shoulder and watched his father step down off his seat, red robe trailing behind him like a bloody see; he drew a sword, and at the last second before the door closed he watched the supposedly kind hand of his father raise a sword to the unarmed villager. He closed his eyes as a precaution so he didn’t have to see what came next. 

_._

In the months following, Ryan began spending less and less time in the castle, more time skipping his lessons and interacting with the people of his kingdom. He listened to stories and made friends with people old and young; they were all so different and nothing like his family. “Yes I remember when this place wasn’t so cruel, and the world was at peace.” The woman talking had to be no less than a thousand years old, in the mind of a 10 year old Ryan, and she spoke to him shakily as she peeled carrots and potatoes with no regard for the sharp tool she was using being so near her fingers. 

Ryan sat himself on a pile of bags of grain or corn, he couldn’t quite tell, but he knew it felt uncomfortable and smelled of the fields; this entire hut did, and the horse nearby didn’t add to the pleasantry of the aroma. Every now and again Ryan would spurt out a question, wondering why the people were so different, and why some of them were working so much harder than everyone else. Seemingly amused, the woman chuckled and looked up at the prince, “They have kept you in the dark, my child.” She pointed out and began to tell him a story worth telling.

In just a couple months of sneaking out and visiting the woman, Ryan learned the history of his people, and the two other castes; learned the etymology of each term and what was taboo and what was okay. That lady was an Adventurer, and she showed him the series of little birthmarks that signified the divine birth right that Adventurers had initially; a small triangle-esq shape just near her hairline, the collection of speckles on her collarbone, supposedly they proved that her people did not have dirty blood, and they were not meant to be used as slaves. 

_Slaves._ The word sat uncomfortably on Ryan’s tongue for weeks, and he avoided his parents at all costs because of the implications of the word, a word he had not understood until recently. He watched more diligently at the people labeled ‘Adventurers’ and how the guards would push them and hit them with the hilts of their swords just because they were passing by, and each time Ryan would fly over and berate the soldiers, only to be berated himself later by his parents. Although he discovered quickly that the look of silent thanks he got with every so-called misdemeanor was worth the hassle he got for doing so.

The same old woman greeted him with a hug one morning as he flew in with the great haul of eggs from the coup on the other side of the kingdom, along with the newly fashioned reigns looped around his shoulders that he glided over to hang on the nail plunged into the wooden post nearest the brown horse. “Thank you dear.” She said, and Ryan nodded with a bright grin and sat himself on top of the hay bale next to the bench where she began chiseling away at a block of cobble. 

Inside the rickety barn it reeked of mildew and animal droppings as per the norm, although with the spring air came a refreshing scent of blossoms from the blooming apple orchard in the main courtyard. Ryan began to talk about his family, his father’s most recent outburst which brought about the slaughter of a set of parents; reasons ranging from them both being females to one being an Adventurer and the other a Creator. He hated his father, and the older woman saw it in his star blue eyes and the way the 12 year olds’ voice cracked angrily when he began floating because of his excess emotions.

She would smile softly at him and walk over to nudge him back down and kiss his forehead, “You will be a good king my dear.” The comment made Ryan blush but he would do anything to hear that reassurance every day; he was told constantly what a _great king_ he would be, but he grew tired of that. Any fool could be a great king, but he was glad this sagely woman thought him positively enough to be a _good king_. 

At some point in the day, Ryan was sent out by the woman to fetch some reeds from the river a few kilometers from the front gates, and so he went, flying gracefully through the trees and breathing in the smells of the forest: grass and dirt, sap and flowers. The birds sang in a gentle chorus matching the delicate rays of light that snuck through the healthy canopy above and flashed over his eyes; he flew low enough to feel the long grasses brush against his jacket and smiled when he reached the river and let the smell of algae and water greet him. 

The rushing water was enough to deafen a man, however he heard something else just beyond the bounds of the opposite bank. Looking to the collection of reeds, then towards the noise, Ryan sighed and decided to let his curiosity get the better of him; it would only take a minute anyway. The other side of the river was not as beautiful as the one nearer the kingdom; it was filled with dying birch trees that had leaves of a worryingly grey hue and the fauna consisted of the occasional sickly looking cow and scattered skeletal wolf.

Crying, the sound had been crying; which made zero sense to Ryan but regardless he began flying around hastily trying to locate the source. He did find it and stopped himself and hid behind a tree before he was spotted. In the clearing before him he saw a child no older than 3 years old dressed in a particularly nice brown tunic over a gold-trimmed white shirt with long sleeves that fell past the boy’s fingertips. His eyes were big, brown, and bloodshot from his crying and he was sat in the middle of a small clearing with nothing but a little pile of flowers next to him. 

Confused and scared, Ryan hesitantly flew out but decided to land and walk up to the boy, kneeling down in front of the sobbing child and calling out “Hey,” quietly. Nothing he asked pulled a word from the toddler as he just continued to cry and back away from Ryan. 

“…you like flowers?” Ryan asked after nothing else worked, and the raven-haired boy looked up with big teary eyes and nodded, putting a tiny hand on his bundle on the ground. Ryan smiled, “Well I got lots of flowers back at my place, why don’t you come with me and we can find your parents.” He held out a hand and waited patiently until the soft digits of the toddler loosely grabbed his palm. 

Taking the initiative, Ryan scooped up the boy and made sure to pick up a rose and hand it to him as he began to fly back towards the kingdom; confused and wondering why and who would leave a child out in the woods alone. Out of curiosity, he touched his fingers to the boy’s forehead and pushed aside his curly black bangs, and he wasn’t completely surprised to see the light brown triangle shape there that contrasted just enough with his skin to be noticeable. His mind told him he was probably abandoned voluntarily due to his caste, but his heart wanted to believe it was a fluke and the kid had a pair of parents looking frantically for him. 

Listening to the river draw near then pass underneath him, Ryan began to daydream about being an older brother, perhaps selfishly seeing as though the kid in his arms had a family already; but he wanted to have someone to teach and influence positively and be the king after him. Glancing down at the toddler, Ryan grinned seeing him gently touching the velvet red petals and smiling softly while still sniffling from crying before. “What’s your name?” There was no response. 

To avoid attention upon approaching the front gates of the kingdom walls he flew around and over the back entrance where only prisoners were transported, he tucked the boy close to his chest as he entered his room through an open window and maneuvered his way through the hallways to the large iron doors of his mother and father’s throne room. He pushed it open gently but froze upon hearing a pair of familiar voices crying. 

“-we couldn’t stop him, he wandered off when we weren’t looking and-“ A stout woman with long dark hair tied up into an elaborate twist of braids and long red robes draped over her shoulders and trailing the ground behind her cried with her head in her hands. A man of slightly taller physique with a goatee and a gold-trimmed tunic placed a hand on her shoulder, his eyes equally watered and forlorn.

“Wolves,” The man began, his voice low and shaky, “Wolves killed our boy. Our little boy…Notch help us…” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and breathed in deeply. Ryan recognized the two as the first duke and duchess of their court, highly respected and supposedly having just given birth to a new child.

Ryan’s father looked saddened and stood to place caring hands on the both of them, whispering quiet words of reassurance before sending them away, but Ryan sneered as he watched them go, for as soon as their backs were to his father wicked grins broke over their faces. He looked at the boy in his arms, knowing it was theirs, understanding they had left him to die because they didn’t want to be labeled dirty for having an Adventurer child. The thought of such soullessness made the prince want to vomit.

His heart raced out of anger and confusion, and Ryan panicked, flying as fast as he could out of that place, away from his family until he laid eyes on the ramshackle barn with the one aging horse and also aging woman. Still shaky in the air, Ryan practically crashed into the hay bale he normally found himself sat on at this time of day, watching mindlessly as the woman worked with metal. His breath was heavy when the woman jogged up to him, wondering if he was alright and where the reeds were he had been sent to fetch. 

“They abandoned him,” Ryan mumbled, hesitantly untucking the toddler from his arms. “They left him out in the woods alone…because he’s an Adventurer.” 

The woman carefully took the boy from the other boy’s arms and shushed him as he began to cry again, bouncing him in her arms and lulling him into acquiesce for the time being. Sagely green eyes turned up at Ryan, looking proud but disappointed, relieved yet sad. “What?” was all Ryan could mumble out. 

Quietly, the woman sat down with the boy in her arms, still fiddling familiarly with the rose Ryan handed him before, “Ryan, I know you meant well. But,” Her voice cracked, “But by bringing him here you have condemned him to a life of slavery.” Ryan recoiled, breath catching in his throat at the revelation. He suddenly hated himself.

He wrung his hands together, “I’m sorry, I didn’t…I didn’t know what to do. His parents are the duke and duchess; they woulda’ killed him.” 

“ _Shh_ , I know child. I think you did the right thing.” She reassured him, setting the boy on her work bench and turning to the 12 year old Creator standing shaking in the middle of the barn. “I can take care of him. I’ve wanted a child to care for since my daughter left home; guess I kinda miss being a mom.” Ryan smiled at the comment and made a move to leave, “What’s his name?” 

Ryan thought about the lack of response he got when he asked about the boy’s name, and shrugged, “I don’t think they named him. All I know if the duke and duchess’ last name is Juarez.” He pointed out.

“Probably best to stay away from that name.” 

“…How about Ray.” Ryan spoke up after a moment.

The woman smiled and nodded, “And he can take my last name, lest we try to give him yours.” She chuckled and ran a calloused hand along the toddler’s cheek, and he giggled and grabbed her hand. “Ray Narvaez then. Wonderful.” 

Ryan left that day and stopped visiting the old woman, for reasons both he and his pseudo-mentor understood: Ray couldn’t grow up knowing who he was or believing he had any special treatment, he could never know himself as a Juarez less he endanger his life. His name was Ray Narvaez like his mother’s father, and his mother was the elderly woman who worked with metals and raised the horses and both were 3rd generation Adventurers. 

While Ryan forced himself to follow his father’s instructions in the years to follow, taking his lessons, leaning to create things from his will; and while he found it all very useful, he did not have the apparent knack for it that was expected of him. 

6 years without visiting the woman personally, and Ryan decided to take a stroll through town and just happen to pass by the slave quarters, he sent a smile her way, his teeth no longer the big goofy pearly whites he shown at 12 when they agreed upon Ray’s name. And speaking of the toddler, he wasn’t much of a toddler anymore; Ryan watched the now 9 year old run out of the barn with a scruffy dog chasing him playfully. 

The prince had to hide the adoring smile that spread across his face upon seeing the child he’d rescued now running around and happy, though he was dressed in servant’s clothes he appeared well-off; that was one thing he had made sure of upon his decision to stop returning, was that the Narvaez’s were taken care of. 

It was a long 10 years before Ryan, approaching his 29th birthday, began to pay formal visits again, brining extra food for the Narvaez’s and the other Adventurer workers. Ray, at that point 19 years old, would always glare at him angrily, but Ryan knew why. Miss Narvaez had been telling him about Ray’s budding hatred for Creators, he was quite the revolutionary apparently; Ryan had to rush around every week to make sure the lad didn’t get beheaded for his actions. He wished he could be the older brother to Ray he’d wanted to be when he was 12.

_._

The fire before him popped and clicked more and he tucked his knees under his chin and avoided the gazes of Geoff, Gavin, Ray, and Jack. His story was painful to tell, and he had stopped talking aloud after explaining how he met the old woman and how she taught him a lot of what was right and wrong, he wasn’t going to drop that latter bomb of information; not now anyway. The rest of the tale hurt him too much to even burden his mind with at the time; he didn’t want to recall the 11 years after that as his parents began growing old and dying and he alone brought about the deaths of hundreds, tried to kill himself, failed and spent 110 years regretting everything he’d ever done. And how he spent those years remarking at the fact that everything he’d done for that toddler in the woods was null-and-void because he had watched Ray die and assumed he would never see him again.

No. That was a story for another time


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short as shit chapter just because the rest is really long and I felt it needed a chapter of it's own, I'm sorry I'm awful but I've been doing summer things and less writing now that school is out, but no worries the story goes on. Thank you so much for reading 8D

Ray woke suddenly when his subconscious was aware of the lack of sound in the room. Said lack of sound was evident as he forced himself to a sitting position and couldn’t hear the tell-tale shuffling of sheets or the faint snoring he knew came along with bunking next to Jack. The ginger was not there, his pile of blankets cold motionless against the ground As if he hadn’t even been there. With all manner of caution he stood up ignoring the creaking in his joints as he stood, allowing the blankets to slide off of his legs and pool at his feet. 

Looking up, the sky was a denim blue with a hint of yellow tickling the horizon’s edge, the birds tweeted quietly in the trees nearby along with the cold chill that wafted down and around the mountains’ base. Ray didn’t bother with shoes as he stepped away from the burnt-out fire and the rest of their sleeping companions, feeling the thin, but soft grass underfoot. 

“Jack?” Ray whispered loudly, looking around for any sign of the architect. On a branch nearby he saw Jack’s bandolier, potion bottles and pickaxe still attached, hanging from the wood; meaning he couldn’t be far. _Probably just went to take a piss._ Ray tried to assure himself and turned back towards their makeshift camp.

However he stopped upon noticing Ryan’s previous resting place was vacated, then he panicked, all his distrust and hatred for the Creator bubbling to the surface as he ran to his things and grabbed his sword. The path and forest around him seemed infinitely expansive so he chose a direction at random, past the tree where Jack’s bandolier was hanging, and ran. He saw Jack’s grey, tattered scarf hanging around a branch further in: lucky guess. He kept going, growing tired very quickly. 

A clanging noise stopped him only a few meters ahead, and he made a sharp turn towards the sound. He mumbled under his breath about the terrible thing he’d do to Ryan if he found a single one of Jack’s hairs out of place, how he’d hang him up by his ankles above a pit of skeletons and let them shoot his eyes out, or toss him to thee zombies. In fact, Ray was planning out every way to torture the Creator before he neared an opening to a clearing. He slowed his pace and raised his sword as he emerged past the last tree.

“Ray!” Jack smiled brightly at him, and jogged over to where Ray was stood stock still with his sword still raised like a fool. “Check this out,” He held out a blue-tinged helmet made of leather and steel, and under the curvature of the brow plates was a black glass visor that caught the almost nonexistent light of pre-dawn.

Bashfully, Ray hurried to lower his sword and hold it behind his back as if no one had noticed, he cleared his throat and took the helmet in his free hand, “This is really well done Jack,” He commented, dropping the sword behind him to further inspect the armor piece, fingers catching the perfectly-rounded bolts and over the soft leather and hard metal. “You’ve talked about making one of these for ages, why didn’t you make one sooner?” Ray wondered handing the helmet back.

Jack chuckled, “Oh no I didn’t make it, Ryan did. _Er_ , he helped me through it anyway.” 

Though mildly confused, Ray gave the Creator a sideways look of bewilderment and thanks, turning his head to look at Jack again and the big smile shone upon the ginger’s face; his own lips twitched up into a grin with a warm hum in his chest. If Jack was happy he wouldn’t mind the proximity.

Ryan caught the expected deathly glare so he wiped his brow and dumped a chilled bucket of water on the red hot anvil in front of him to cool it to a charred solid, then turned to his leather belt of tools and threw it over his shoulder making a bee-line back the way Ray had come.   
But the masked Adventurer caught his arm as he tried to pass, and at first Ryan flinched away, expecting to be struck or reprimanded; but he was surprised to see the brown irises not flared in rage but soft in the dawning light. 

At first he leaned his head back, partially startled of the uncharacteristic look. “Thank you.” Ray mumbled under his breath, averting his eyes and slowly releasing Ryan’s arm. However Ryan was still confused and continued looking mildly concerned. 

Looking over his shoulder, Ray smiled softly before turning back, “Every time we’ve ended up bruised and hiding in a tree, he’s said about how we need armor, how he wishes he had learned how to work with metal instead of potions.” He shrugged,” Took the blame of our injuries completely on his shoulders and didn’t stop feeling bad no matter what I said. So thank you,” Ray smiled and slapped a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, “He’s always wanted one. And I guess you’re not so bad.” 

He turned his back and stepped away but paused, turning his head to look around, “But I’m watching you.” Ray assured, only half joking. Ryan chuckled and waved, thought Ray did not find it so humorous; he did not and never would trust the Creator, however- he looked back at his friend smiling ear-to-ear and sighed- anyone who could make Jack smile like that couldn’t be horrible.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited to post the next couple chapters, I hope you enjoy this one though, and thank you for reading!  
> Also I'm terribly sorry for last week's lack of update, I've been strangely preoccupied ^^;

“He’s staying here.” 

“He’s not staying here Ray. We need his help.” Geoff sighed.

The masked man huffed, “His help? We can get by just fine without his help. Plus shouldn’t he be able to just give us the netherwart we need?” Ray crossed his arms, waving one around wildly in eccentric convulsion.

Ryan looked away, “I’ve told you already, I never finished my training, I never perfected summoning.” He mumbled only half sure of himself. 

Immediately Ray huffed and smirked sarcastically, letting his arms flop down to his sides, “So along with our merry band of misfits, including but not limited to a half blind archer and an Adventurer, we have a bum Creator who can only make flowers and rocks. Good. _Fucking fantastic._ ” The others were quiet, except Jack who followed his partner whispering calmingly to him as Ray began to storm off with his arms crossed.

Standing adjacent from the now empty spot, Ryan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I’ve ruined everything.” He always did ruin everything, and he hated himself for it, hated that every good thing in his life was whisked away from him without so much as a goodbye nor a second look. His entire life was swept out from under him because of his eager naivety, regardless of if he was right or not, Ryan brought the demise of his bloodline through a series of disjointed events. He had no future, because he messed it up for himself over 100 years ago; Ryan; lost, treacherous heir to the throne, hated by all including the people he tried to protect. While lost in thought, Ryan mulled over the thought of revealing his last name, letting the name _Haywood_ work its way past his lips once more, though he vowed to never speak it again, but he would sacrifice that much just once to tell these people- these _good_ people- what they deserved to hear. 

“You’ve ruined nothing.” He turned to Michael, leant against a tree looking his diamond blade over with keen vigilance. “We’ve always been a bit broken, disjointed: dysfunctional. You haven’t ruined anything,” Michael paused, his hand halting on the blade as he hesitantly looked up, “If anything this will make us better.” He sheathed the sword, “Closer.” 

A hand smacked Ryan roughly across the back, “Ray ‘ll get over it. Being friends with Jack really helps your case.” Gavin grinned cheekily at him. 

As if everything were still okay, Ryan chuckled when Geoff nodded in agreement; something about the way the older Survivor seemed sagely though he wasn’t, was really was amusing.

_._

“When are you going to realize I’m trying to keep _you_ safe?” Ray asked Jack in a hushed whisper as they began packing up their things in the mid-day light, stuffing only a couple of furs into one bag while the necessary iron equipment was tied to the outside of Ray’s bag where other emergency building materials and brewing ingredients were stored. 

The ginger looked to their companions who were preoccupied with packing their travel packs, though Michael was having more of an issue with taking Gavin’s flint and steel away from him as a precaution, then turned back to Ray, “Maybe that’s where you’re going wrong,” He pointed out, and a revealed expression crossed over Ray’s face, all anger gone for the time being.

Jack pushed more materials down into his bag and pulled the main zipper closed, “I took care of you for-“ Jack chuckled, “A year- _maybe_ \- before you decided I was the one who needed protecting.” He lifted a small stack of planks and set them on the ground in front of him to tie them together. “Which maybe I was, I had only just gotten out of the Nether and I had no idea what to do with myself, let alone an Adventurer with memory loss.” He shoved the planks into the heavy leather satchel and snapped it closed, “But now it’s different, and you can’t focus so much on me, we’ve got friends now that need our help, and we need theirs.” 

Ray looked a bit disheartened, slowly putting his things away without another word. “Ray,” He didn’t want to look up, Jack had this ineffable way of bringing out his guilt, “Ray you know I love you; you’re my best friend and I’d probably be dead if I hadn’t found you passed out in the forest 11 years ago.” At that the masked man looked up at his friend’s gentle eyes and happy smile, “We were each other’s worlds,” Jack pointed out, slinging his pack onto his back, “But our worlds have gotten a bit bigger now.” Both he and Ray turned their heads towards the rest of their group: Michael at that point was sitting on Gavin’s back, but was still having trouble snatching the flint and steel from the Archer’s flailing limbs, Ryan was trying to help the cause by attempting to grab Gavin’s arms but whenever he neared he would get hit or scratched in the fray, Geoff was chortling at the scene and at the Hunter’s increasing irritation. 

Despite himself Ray smiled, “A bit louder too,” He added softly, trying to hide the fondness latching onto his tone. Jack wrapped an arm around his shoulder and said something to the fact that they would be fine together, and they’d protect each other, and some other positive nonsense Jack liked to spew to keep his spirit up: an admirable habit. 

It was a few meters away where they had set up the Nether portal, and it popped and sizzled in angry turmoil, the whiplash purple swirls that spun terrifying glyphs through the violet sea. Ray felt his teeth grind together at the thought of going in there, he had heard Jack’s testament to the unholy wonders that lie inside, and he had heard the stories whispered through the trees of the peril that lay ahead of them if they are to truly enter that hell. He was concerned for their safety, but mostly could not keep the sick feeling from rising in his stomach that was brought around by the fact that he was allowing Jack to experience it all again.

Ray held his head and leaned against the nearest tree for a moment; he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it if something ended up happening to Jack, to _any_ of them. He rested his head back, he had to prepare himself to help his partner though, he knew that, he just _knew_ that with Jack’s messed up head (all to blame on past trauma in the Nether) that he wouldn’t be making it through this excursion without having his anxiety get to him. He had explained it to Geoff already and he was prepared to assist as well, but that wasn’t going to be enough to quell the Adventurer’s worry. 

“You sure you don’t want me to come along boss?” Michael wondered to Geoff with no particular amount of disdain in his voice, “You could leave Gavin here, or the Creator,” Nearby Ryan hid a cringe at the use of his caste title but otherwise said nothing, “You might need my help.” He pointed out, crossing his arms casually. 

Replying with a shake of the head, Geoff hefted his shoulder pads up and pulled the leather strips through the silver latches to tighten them in place, “As much as I’d love to have you along, I can’t trust any of the others with our shit while we’re gone. I mean, maybe Jack but he’s coming with us so-“ He shrugged, “We’ll be quick.” And he stalked off to make sure Gavin wasn’t going to leave anything important behind that he needed like his sword, quiver, and water canteen, all which were sitting separately from the bag on his back and where he was standing seemingly ready near the portal. 

Michael let out a quiet huff, “Your expeditiousness isn’t my concern.” He stepped a few feet over to the portal and laid a hand on the obsidian; it burnt his skin but he kept his palm in place, knowing his companions would be experiencing twice the pain from the very air of that place. The midnight black stones were beginning to chip away in hairline lightning pattern that bled violet heat and burned the same fractured glyphs into Michael’s palm, beginning to sear up his arm until he pulled away. This was an evil thing that led to an evil place and Michael was terrified for his friends.

“Alright kids let’s go,” Geoff called out as he wrangled Gavin towards the portal and Jack, Ryan, and Ray hesitantly approached with less gusto. “Now has everyone tried to use it? There’s no bathroom in the Nether.” Geoff joked.

“There’s no bathroom here either.” Michael mumbled, but no one heard him. 

Ryan was floating a few centimeters above the grass seemingly out of nervousness, and Gavin still seemed amazed that he could do that and stared incredulously at him. “Remember to breath when you’re going through, the worst thing you could do is cut your brain off from oxygen. You might feel sick upon coming out, and mind your exposed skin, everything in there hurts, even the air.” Jack explained, staring nervously into the purple portal, clutching the straps of his pack but otherwise not moving. 

Gavin was the first to step forward, with a naïve amount of gusto before Ryan floated in front of him, landed softly and made a silent demand for him to wait and stepped into the portal himself. 

Ryan was gone in a flash and Gavin suddenly seemed nervous, looking at Michael with a pathetic grin before stepping in, wringing his bow in his hands, fingers catching every notch in and purposeful curved carving in the wood; he vanished just as quickly. Ray went next, hesitant to leave his stock still partner’s side, but ultimately did.

After a moment and a few steps towards the portal, Geoff turned to Jack with a surprisingly worried expression, “What did you say it was like in there?” He asked, hiding a quaver in his voice by rubbing his neck.

Jack swallowed audibly, “Water evaporates instantly when exposed, the ground is alight like the sun, creatures unlike this realm. Like your very being is burning.” 

“…Great…” Geoff mumbled nervously and stepped through. The pain was excruciating, Geoff opened his mouth the scream but no sound came out, or so he thought, little could be heard over the loud static sound that was surrounding him. Though he was covered almost head to toe in either clothing or his heavy armor but the heat began to seep through the cotton and leather and sting his skin; later on he would describe it as walking on the surface of a star burning hotter than the sun. 

Coming out of the cyclone Geoff was not graceful, he stumbled over the step off the obsidian perch, his backpack shuffled off one shoulder so his flail and sword clattered to the ground with him. As soon as his head stopped spinning he realized his face was pressed against the hard packed gravel-like ground and it was searing his cheek. Throwing himself to his feet, not only made him dizzy, but he only felt the pain worse and cried out. Clumsily he knelt down to grab his sword off the ground, burning his knuckles on the red earth beneath in the process; looking in its reflective surface at the red scorch marks on the left side of his face. Tears welled in his eyes, not only because of the immediate pain, but from the fiery air drying his eyes and heating up his skin. 

Only a few feet away he noticed Ryan resting on his knees, seemingly out of breath, and Gavin hunched over and retching into a divot in the red earth and sobbing quietly, with his one pant leg still ripped off at the knee his shin was burning and only causing him more pain. Ray was leant against the side of the portal breathing heavily and cradling his hand as it shook mildly. 

Moments later the portal flashed and Jack stepped through with nothing more than a momentary stumble as he stepped down, he held his head for a moment as it stopped spinning but otherwise seemed fine. He checked on the vomiting Gavin first because he was the first he saw; he ran over and pulled the younger man’s scarf out of the way and put a caring hand on his back. 

Ryan noticed how Jack’s entire frame was shaking and his pupils were tightly restricted, and especially his hands were quaking. 

Geoff looked up and out unto the hell before them; they were perched on a high edge of a cliff that overlooked a sea of lava, most of which was dripping in columns from a higher level. It was painfully bright and dishearteningly dark all at the same time and hurt his eyes.

“Jack,” Ray stumbled over to his partner and put a hand on his back, but Jack ended up being the one supporting Ray as he nearly toppled.

“Looks like the portal took more of a toll on you guys than on me…” Jack murmured somewhat confused, but preferring to tend to his friend by placing a dampened cloth on his burned hand then on his forehead. 

Ryan didn’t feel terrible aside from being dizzy, so he went to levitate over to Gavin to help him out some more but as soon as he was clear from the ground his head pulsed painfully with a rush of blood and he lost control of his flight and fell right onto his face. He cried out when he connected with the fiery earth, trying to flip over so he was on his back, but his limbs wouldn't respond correctly and he ended up wriggling pitifully until he felt two arms scoop him up underneath his arms. 

He was dragged up and back until he was sat on the seat of his kilt and could feel the breeze of the hearth further sting his skin. Geoff got out from behind him and scooted around to face him, “You alright bud?” He wondered, pressing the still cool flank of his water canteen to the side of the Creator’s face to ease any burning sting. Ryan nodded while letting out a strangled noise that led to a few labored breathes while he held his head carefully.

“Breath dude, you can’t hold your breath I just told you,” Jack chastised Ray but with the utmost care in his tone. His hand was placed strategically on the small of the Adventurer’s back to coax him to breathe in, and it worked, but he remained with his partner until he stood up shakily and went to retrieve his discarded bag.

“Woah guys…” Gavin, voice cracked and strained after purging his system as he had, mumbled just loud enough for everyone to hear him, “Look at that.” He was still hunched over looking to be in pain but simultaneously in awe of the landscape. 

Truth be told, the terrain that lay before them was like one from a horror story your parents would tell you to scare you into religion, or like the rumored apocalypse the Earth sprouted from in the beginning of the golden era. It was hell, they all knew it.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright kinda short chapter but I dont doubt that a lot of the chapters arent going to surpass much more than 2000 words, im trying to relax and enjoy my summer with as little stress as possible, but i will keep updating. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!

“What are we doing here? This is insane, we’re gonna die; there’s a reason the Nether is a bedtime story because we’re not _supposed to be here_.” 

Geoff sighed and tried again to silence Gavin, putting an arm around his shoulder and shoving a bottle of water into his hands. None of them had thought Gavin would be the one to lose it upon entering, mainly due to the fact that he had been nonchalant, and nearly excited to enter this hell; though surprisingly the Archer was mumbling frantically and shaking whilst they walked.

Ryan and Ray appeared to be five seconds away from slapping him, more out of their own nervousness making his hyperventilating unbearable than actual anger towards the lad. Jack was silent, however, staying in pace behind Ray but in front of Ryan, looking jittery and anxious and staring intently at the ground.

Every few minutes Geoff would look over at the ginger sadly, not once passing any judgment towards his less-than-brave behavior. He came from here, he’d seen this hell, and it was unlikely he cared to see it again; but only Jack knew what the Netherwart looked like and where to find it so he had to be there. But Geoff felt terrible for him, bad enough that whenever Jack noticed a zombie pigman and started holding his breath again, Geoff would step away from Gavin for a moment and pass him some water and a bit of apple to calm him down- that being when Ray was too preoccupied reading Jack’s map with Ryan.

The red earth was painful on their feet, even through thick leather boots and wool socks; when they stopped to break because the heat was unbearable, Geoff noticed the sole of his shoes, where there were previously intertwining traction patterns, were beginning to melt to an uneven bumpy texture that made it near-impossible to traverse the soul sand slopes they met. 

Jack’s map was iffy at best, covered in charcoal markings where Jack had realized he’d messed up and crossed out the path, the path he claimed to be correct was winding and confusing, and involved a treacherous 2-meter wide path above a sea of lava. The air there had been unbearably hot and hurt their throats and lungs more so than the air on the plateau, which was to be expected, but both Geoff and Ryan found it unbearably painful for the burns on their faces. 

None of them had hardly spoken a word since entering that begotten place, either because they were too nervous and scared or because the hot air hurt their throats, it didn’t particularly matter because when Jack broke the silence with a sudden sharp intake it was startling to all. He said nothing but began straying from the path, no one knew how to react until Ray looked up from the map and started, “Jack-“ And made chase. 

He grabbed the architect by the arm as he neared a jagged cave in the wall of the red earth, but Jack wasn’t fazed, “I know this place…” he mumbled so quietly that Ray, standing less than a foot away, could not hear him over the ambiance of the Nether.

“Jack?” Ray moved around to the front of him and pushed on his shoulders, “C’mon bud we gotta go quick.” He urged, barely paying attention to where they were, not that a random cave would mean anything to him.

“I spawned here.” The ginger said just loud enough for Ray to hear and release him. The masked man looked back and forth between his partner and the cave, noticing the oddly arranged rock setup in the cave and the partially-toppled _obviously_ man-made wall sitting towards the front of the opening. 

It took a minute of silence for Jack until he shook his head and wiped the sweat off his brow, “Let’s just go, the fortress should be around here somewhere.” His voice was oddly domineering as he turned back on weak knees and trudged ahead of them, motioning for Ryan and the rest to follow. Ray looked worried but didn’t say anything, merely jogged to catch up.

“Did he say fortress?” Gavin wondered. 

Geoff nodded, Ray had explained briefly to him what Jack knew, how Netherwart was grown in fortresses in the Nether said to be left over by molten-age kingdoms, ones normally run by Adventurers when they were rulers of the earth. The stuff had a diluting property that also managed to be acidic, and when ground up it had a chemical that could ionize metals, it was all a bunch of scientific jibber-jabber Geoff hardly listened to when he was being told. Whatever it was it was going to be useful for healing his lungs, Michael’s cracked ribs, Ray’s (now) broken wrist, and possibly even Gavin’s eye. However he was warned that the archer’s injury might be too long gone, the blood cells in his eye mostly likely were beyond the help of healing potion and would not help restore his sight. 

Though if any of it helped the lad with the pain he felt just by putting pressure on the right side of his head then Geoff would be happy they made this trip. 

Ryan had yet to regain a grasp on his flying and would occasionally float a few centimeters above the red earth before falling down and stumbling to regain his footing. He huffed whenever he did so and clamped a hand down on his right thigh, presumably in pain; but he hid any kind of limp well.

It seemed like ages in that burnt hell before they rounded a bend and were met with an impossibly tall tower with a narrow staircase leading up and in. It was so dark that it blended with the red earth and moody eeriness around it, and Gavin, with all his recently acquired near-sightedness, didn’t notice the building was there until they were stepping through the miniscule archway and up the stairs.

Geoff held his flail in hand, Gavin with an arrow half-knocked, and the others with assorted weapons, except for Jack who was slowly leading them all with seemingly little care but oodles of caution. 

Walking up the stairs, every footstep resounded and bounced off the brick walls, the cracks in the stone crackling further and chipping off just enough for it to be disconcerting. The air was eerily chilled (in comparison to the outside) and left chills prickling over any exposed skin; like walking into an oven after going through hell. 

“The molten age was the budding of new empires,” Ryan began awkwardly, swallowing harshly as they reached the top of the stair case. They followed Jack down a blackened corridor, “Adventurers were feared, and therefor powerful,” Ray looked at him, and Ryan looked away. “They were stronger than most, and could take the heat. They would bring young Creators here to torture them.” He paused, “That’s what I was told anyway.” 

Ray smirked, enjoying this story so far, wishing he had been around to see it. As they walked he ran his fingers along the heated bricks, feeling the smooth eroded stone, worn down by the wind through the corridors beneath his fingers. Any and all connections to his ancestry felt disconnected to him at best, considering he never recalled meeting another Adventurer and so he only knew as much as Jack did. He had a sneaking suspicion that Ryan could tell him more, especially judging on the way he was guiltily floating behind the lot of them staring intently at the floor.

“Guys look,” They turned to Gavin, who had stored his arrow in his quiver and was fiddling with a dark, dusty curtain and cord. He traced the frayed, gold-trimmed linings, peaking through to the shadow behind it before he grabbed the edge and pulled the maroon colored curtain aside in a cloud of dust. For a moment Geoff was going to scold him but the dust hit him in the face, only agitating his damaged lungs and forcing him into a coughing fit again. 

“Idiot-“ The armor-clad man coughed and punched the younger man in the arm. However Gavin did not seem to acknowledge the connection as he stared at the newly exposed wall. He reached up and put his hand on the grey stone surface and began sweeping away the healthy layering of dust. 

Jack came back around to them and held a torch up to the wall, exposing the drawings and ancient runes and was silent. There were drawings that were faded into the dark red bricks but there were more recent ones drawn over with lettering that Geoff found he recognized from his times in the minecraftian library, reading books covered with just as much dust as that mosaic was. “What’s it say?” Gavin asked.

Of course any observant dolt could pick out the pictures, people drawn in golden crowns with flying servants in brown cloth, but down the wall things seemed to decline as the flying servants seemed to discover their power to kill, not surprising, most kingdoms fell in a similar way. Just as they were ready to abandon the glyphs Jack said, “This guy,” He touched the pad of his finger to a figure painted overlapping the others in the bottom right hand corner, “He’s supposedly a legend.” He said, “Born here in the Nether like me, Ghast blood in his veins that whited out his eyes and left him impervious to fire, led a kingdom after single handedly ending the molten age.” There was an odd amount of adoration in his voice that made Ray give him a curious sideways glance. 

Gavin was knelt down and touching the glyph as well, rubbing off the dust with his thumb from over the name written in the strange language. “What’s this say?” He asked curiously. 

“Herobrine,” Jack replied, but he chuckled, “It’s mostly just a story though.” 

_._

Kara landed stealthily on the grass in a clearing with Chris behind her landing less-than gracefully as he stumbled into a tree. The night was encompassing them with the setting sun; Kara effortlessly pulled a shimmering diamond sword on a creeper that approached her moments later, slicing it in half and coating her blade in its deep colored blood. She surveyed the thin forest around them, shooting an arrow or three into the darkness to kill some zombie or skeleton she saw in the murk, but otherwise she seemed annoyed. 

“Where are they?” Chris muttered skittishly, tugging at the hem of his cloak.

Waving a hand back at him, Kara sighed, “They’ll be here, you know how Miles loves making people wait on him.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't updated in like 2 weeks it was freakishly irresponsible of me, there's just a lot of going on in my life right now including finding out i have to take two extra placement tests for school in fall and also getting kicked out of my house ^^; so i am super sorry i havent been updating as regularly. I hope this chapter will entertain you guys and I ask your forgiveness 8)

Michael sighed again, running the pads of his fingers along the flat side of his diamond sword; with his eyes closed he felt every scratch, nick, and ding on the crystalized surface. It was an exercise in serenity for him, much like the delicate carvings in Gavin’s bow, it was his way of spacing out because otherwise his paranoid mind kept his heart rate up as he was constantly on guard. He knew that being alone in the woods at night wasn’t the best place to take this meditative technique into action, but he was tired and couldn’t stand the silence otherwise. 

Trees around him moaned and creaked, swaying in the nightly breeze; the forest was old, older than he or Geoff, probably older than Ryan and those like him. The smell of the wood rotting flowed with the air that might’ve contributed to the antique feel of the natural essence, however the disconcerting ruffling of leaves was keeping sentiment at bay. 

Michael cracked an eye and stared at the swirling purple hellgate that stood a few meters away. He huffed and closed his eyes again; he knew he was smart for staying behind, sure he offered to go, but the alien feeling that welled up in him imagining the group of incompetent assholes getting hurt or lost in the Nether forced him to at least make the offer. He couldn’t escape the sinking feeling that dragged him down when the last of them stepped into the hellgate and he was alone.

Opening his eyes upon hearing what he thought was footsteps, Michael peered into the twilight forest before shifting his position and closed his eyes again.

It wasn’t as if Michael wasn’t used to being alone, he spent the better part of his young life alone or feeling like any companionship would leave him with more dependents he couldn’t properly protect. However watching his companions disappearing through the portal hollowed his chest and made him hate himself, much like he had seeing his family die, seeing Geoff sit ill in the Grim Reaper’s skeletal embrace.

He breathed in shakily, realizing he had been holding his breath, scoffing when in the silence he heard his heart beating faster than usual. “Goddammit.” He muttered. 

_._

“Should we talk to him now?” The Creator poked his head out from behind a tree, short black hair barely disturbed by the flow of wind.

“Brandon-“ He was tugged back and turned around to meet the visage of a taller man with greying eyes and scruff along his jawline, “We can’t, not now,” He explained, releasing Brandon’s shoulders and silently stepping back while looking at the map in his hands. The crumpled vanilla colored parchment had directions written in old speak in splotchy black ink down the side next to the poorly drawn map (one that didn’t include the fairly young mountain range they were stood in the shadow of). “Hell we may never get to if we never find Kara and- _Brandon!_ ”

The younger Creator had stepped back towards the soft light of the fire and the brown-clad Survivor that sat against a tree near to it. Said Survivor was looking around, seemingly alerted to their presence but not exact location; he pulled back his hood and brushed his hair behind his ear, most likely to hear better. And still Brandon floated ever nearer, running his hands over the bark of each tree he passed. “Miles he doesn’t look like you said at all.” Brandon whispered, Miles smacked a hand over his face, and the Survivor jumped to his feet and stared in their exact direction.

“Brandon get back here!” Miles shouted and ran forward. Although he was not fast enough as the Survivor sprinted forward at an alarming speed and stuck his diamond sword clear through Brandon’s chest. Sun-colored blood splurging from the exit wound that accompanied his pained scream; it painted the ground and trees behind him in a golden spattering. “Damn it-“ Miles cursed, drawing an axe into his hand and chopping at the Survivor’s arm that still held the sword.

His swing hit its mark and the blue axe blade dug inches into the man’s arm, and in result the sword was released and he staggered back unarmed and bleeding profusely. Not-so-carefully, Miles pulled the diamond sword from his younger friend’s chest and threw it down before looping his arms around Brandon and flying off as quickly as he could, not in the mood for a fight. 

“Goddammit kid! That was literally the stupidest thing you could’ve done.” Miles cursed as he flew Brandon to a plateau a few miles away and landed ungracefully, dropping the injured Creator to the hard earth below. More blood was splattered over the grey rocks where Brandon was dropped; he moaned loudly and held himself around the middle as he curled up into the smallest ball he could. 

Miles was unforgiving when he kneeled by him and flipped him onto his back and pushed his palm flat onto the stab wound, ignoring the younger man’s pained cry, “Shut up and focus, heal yourself! It’s not hard.” He pointed out nonchalantly, pressing harder and resisting when Brandon clawed his arms. 

After nearly 10 minutes of struggling through the pain and shock, Brandon began taking deep breaths, albeit shaky and scattered, but he calmed himself. Miles remained in place until he felt the other’s stomach muscles contract and the bleeding stopped; removing his hands he moved Brandon’s tunic out of the way and nodded approvingly at the unmarked skin, and stood.

“Don’t do that again,” Miles warned with an accusing tone. 

Brandon hauled himself to his feet and wiped his bloody hands off on his pants, “Sorry.” He mumbled pathetically and rubbed around his abdomen.

“That’s just… _gods_ Brandon that’s the dumbest thing you could’ve done! They’re going to be wondering why the hell there were Creators flying around!” Miles shouted, back-handing the young Creator. 

Rubbing his face, Brandon spoke out, “Wasn’t the whole point to let them know we were after them? Push them to move faster towards-“

“Yes but only on queue dumbass!” Miles hollered, sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Kara’s gonna chew us both out now.” He sighed in defeat and sat down cross-legged leaning on both his hands. 

Carefully and quietly Brandon followed his lead, “Well maybe Kara’s dead already,” He mused, “She’s been playing a dangerous game, been skating along the Ringmaster’s tolerance line for decades. Wouldn’t be surprised if one day she just never showed up to a rendezvous.” He shrugged and pulled summoned an apple to his palm, biting into it noisily.

Next to him, Miles chuckled dryly, “Yeah well, we should really get to the meeting spot now cos if she is alive she’s gonna be fucking pissed.” They both laughed legitimately at that before standing and flying South.

_._

Geoff sighed, rolled his eyes and popped the cork to another bottle of water and shoved it into Gavin’s waiting hands. The Archer took it, sloshed it around in his hurry before raising it to his lips and gulping down half its contents; he took a quick swig afterwards, swished it around in his mouth and spit it out off to his left: it sizzled and turned to steam upon touching the burning red earth.

“You’re a fucking idiot you realize that right?” Geoff said scornfully, snatching the bottle back and storing it in his satchel. Next to him, Gavin coughed and breathed loudly through his mouth as they continued on.

“What the hell made you think the netherwart would taste like anything but hot sand?” Ray criticized with a hint of amusement in his tone. 

Gavin shrugged violently, “I don’t know it looked bloody good didn’t it?” He pointed out more as a statement. 

Everyone looked at him, “No!” At least two of them said in unison.

“Well I didn’t know it was gonna burn my gob off now did I?” Gavin screeched and readjusted the strap of his quiver.

Behind them Jack chuckled quietly but otherwise continued to walk in silence having handed the map off to Ryan; he kept one hand on the bag which contained the couple pounds of netherwart he’d picked up not long after they’d analyzed the mural. “Hey,” Ray caught his attention moments later; he turned to him, noting offhandedly the faintly singed corners of Ray’s white mask, “You alright?” 

He nodded, “Yeah, hot and tired, but fine.” 

Ray remained by his side for the hike, touching their shoulders together whenever he felt Jack needed a bit of grounding, offering to carry the bag of netherwart although he knew Jack wouldn’t give it up, anything that would help his partner along. 

“Hey that felt quicker than the way there!” Geoff piped up happily when the faint purple dot of the nether portal appeared around the bend. Gavin seemed to agree as he picked up his pace, ignoring his sizzling soles and burnt knees as the hope of returning to the over world took over. 

Ryan chuckled and rolled the map up carefully and handed it back to Jack, “Careful Gav.” He said.

However unbelievably on-queue it was the netherwrack making up the overhang above Gavin was blown away and it crumbled down around him and it was accompanied by an ear-shattering screeching call that echoed around the entire area. 

Ray’s gaze immediately fell on Jack, who seemed to have lost conscious control of his legs as he was stumbling backwards with unbridled fear in his eyes. “Jack-“ He moved forward but another explosion separated the two of them and fire caught on the red earth underfoot. In his scramble to avoid being hurt Ray threw himself backwards, incidentally burning his hands, but not caring enough to take a moment for himself as he sprinted forward, vaulted the new hole in the ground and got to Jack’s side where he was sat on the ground still petrified and staring at the sky. 

He grabbed the ginger by the back of his bandolier and jerked him under the nearest outcropping, “Jack you gotta focus, stay with me bud’ what is that?” 

“Ghast.” Jack said without missing a beat. He stood and took Ray’s hand and sprinted with a renewed vigor, keeping his strides short as to not leave Ray behind. The other three were stood staring at the enormous white beast in the sky, Ryan looked particularly terrified as he was floating nervously not far behind Geoff. “Guys c’mon!”

Gavin was the only one who seemed to argue, seemingly high on adrenaline the young man grinned cheekily at them, “Oh c’mon I can just shoot ‘em!” He pulled an arrow and knocked it, but Jack released Ray’s hand and knocked Gavin out of the way as the Ghast shot another fireball directly at the green-clad Survivor and blew a hole in the earth. 

“No, you can’t!” Jack insisted, tugging his shirt back towards the portal where the others were headed. 

In all his cocky childishness Gavin turned and brought his elbow down on Jack’s arm and elicited a painful cracking noise from the joint, “Bugger off Jack I can handle myself!” He stepped back out to fire a few arrows into the sky, ignoring the calls of his companions in favor of his fruitless endeavor. 

“No you can’t they’re not like over world creatures, and you’re only lucky we didn’t run into and Blazes!” Jack continued while cradling his right arm. For a moment it appeared as if the archer was going to listen to him, “You will die.” To that Gavin lowered his bow and looked in his direction with an empathetic look before sighing and returning the arrow to his quiver. 

Too slowly for Ryan’s liking, Gavin began to walk towards the portal, so he flew behind him and Jack and nudged them along, “Come on guys can you hurr-“ 

The next blast was too close for comfort and it sent Jack and Gavin flying forward to connect with the red earth painfully as newly lit fires popped and sizzled near their heads. “You alright?” Gavin mumbled out the question, whipping the soot off his face and hair. Jack nodded in an affirming manner as Ray ran up to him to check on him. 

“Holy shit,” Geoff mumbled barely audible above the ambiance from where he stood look dumbfounded.

Pulling himself out of the fiery hole, Rayn patted the embers on his shoulders out and waved Geoff off when he tried to help, “I’m fine, m’fine.” He grunted and flopped over onto his front upon reaching the edge of the hole. 

Coming over to offer his assistance left Ray and Gavin nauseous and worried when they saw both of Ryan’s legs were practically blown out and bleeding profusely; the charred, blackened skin did not help much as Gavin stumbled a few feet away and vomited. “Really I’ll…I’ll heal let’s just get out.” With some difficulty Ryan hauled himself into the air, swaying as he propelled himself forward. Geoff cursed quietly in his wake, watching as the splatters of golden blood decorated the red earth as he flew; that wasn’t good.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, sorry I haven't updated for 3 weeks because I'm a piece of shit and I've had no drive I'm really sorry, and this is a pathetic chapter, but I just wanted to get something out for the people asking. But I'm doing better now if not just constantly tired. Thanks to everyone who came to me on tumblr to express their concern. I'll get the story going again soon 8)

The return trip though the portal was just as painful as it was before, possibly even more so considering it felt as if the purple swirls irritated and seeped into his burns and cuts as Geoff traveled through. His lungs erupted in a fiery ache upon returning to the surface world, the painfully cold air prickling his throat and chest like he swallowed a porcupine. Even the grass, as he stumbled over his feet nauseous and dizzy, was scary and foreign on his palms when he caught himself. 

After a moment he began chuckling through his heavy breathing and laid down and felt the softness of each blade against his burnt cheeks and nose, tangling his hands through the grass to immerse himself in a feeling which he previously took for granted. He heard Gavin retching again nearby but couldn’t find it in himself to care about the lad’s expected nausea.

There were muffled voices, shouting and weak, choked words that spilled through the pre-dawn air to Geoff’s ringing ears; the clanging of backpacks being dropped and armor being shed, all accompanied by dull thuds on the ground nearby. Through the hazy noise there was a voice that silences the rest, but then faded and Geoff listened to the heavy thud that preceded more frenzied exclamations. It was then Geoff found the strength to push himself into a sitting position and look around.

Ryan was on the ground only a meter away, his chest and belly to the ground and head turned to one side, very noticeably not moving. _Passed out _, Geoff concluded worriedly, scooting over to where Jack was checking him over and helping to turn him onto his back. The motion was met with no resistance and there was no response; not good. “What-“ Gavin hobbled over clutching his mid-section and wiping at the corners of his mouth, “What’s gonna happen to him? He’ll be okay right?” He mumbled.__

__Placing a hand on the archer’s back, Ray steered him back towards their makeshift camp just past the trees, “C’mon buddy, he’ll be alright let’s get you some medicine for your stomach.” He moved his hand to Gavin’s shoulder and pulled him close to his side comfortingly, distracting Gavin from the bloody sight that was Ryan._ _

__“Help me carry him back that way.” Jack ordered, and Geoff did as told and the two of them gingerly picked up the knocked out Creator and meandered back towards their camp. Jack was nearer to Ryan’s mutilated legs while Geoff was worrying about supporting his head and neck, though the older survivor could not help but notice the faint shaking of Jack’s frame as they went; it could have been relief, or fear, or just strain, he couldn’t tell, but he wished he could offer comfort, but being a completely un-empathetic old man he wouldn’t know what to do for an anxiety-ridden youngster like Jack. So he walked in silence, trying to keep Ryan’s face from hitting any branches as they went._ _

___.__ _

__“You think Joel is with them?” Brandon wondered quietly in the silence of the morning, catching Miles off guard with the question. “I know he’s normally busy with der Tal von Schmerz so I’m not necessarily expecting him to be around, but I was just thinking, I just haven’t seen him in ages.” He chuckled, spinning slowly up and over Miles a bit giddily, turning on his back while still propelling himself forward, “I mean, I can’t even remember that last time we built together.”_ _

__Miles chuckled at the younger Creator’s eagerness and patted his back, “Calm yourself kiddo. If Joel has the time then he’ll be around, he’s part of this plan as well.” He stole his expression, “Even if he has a total authority issue.” He muttered, recalling vividly the numerous accounts of retribution his fellow Creator had to clamor through._ _

__The Sun continued to rise and Brandon was eager to chat Miles’ ear off, “What was it like then Lun’?” He wondered._ _

__Miles chuckled, “Better; not so chaotic.” His face contorted oddly, “ _When gold ran through the fiery furnaces and not from the veins of the righteous._ ” _ _

__Brandon made a hopeless attempt at holding back his laughter, “Okay now you’ve resorted to quoting Matt. Are you alright?”_ _

__Was he? Miles shrugged, unable to vocalize a response that would make any sense to the young man, “Matt’s an old fuck, won’t let the past go; and goddamn if I have to listen to another one of his _back in my day_ stories I’m going to slit my own throat and end my suffering.” That drew a cut-off laugh from Brandon, “But he saw things we didn’t, felt pain I don’t think we even can anymore and understands things on a deeper level if not more convoluted. He’s the kind of person worth quoting when the world is going to shit.” His explanation was strangely curt in contrast to his exuberant nature, but it seemed Brandon either ignored the tone of voice, or wasn’t paying enough attention to detect such a change. _ _

__For many more minutes they flew over the trees to the east where the sun was rising and straining their eyes, painting the sky and their skin alike, feeling oddly comforting despite the clouds closing in and the weather turning frigid. Miles swore up and down to himself; between his fingers he nervously twiddled the gold oval that once served as a clasp to his cape, it bore the intricate floral design of his family crest as the cape once had. Wearing the article was no longer acceptable in his mind; he should not (could not, would not) even dare take it out of the small bag he had it folded into. It remained on his shoulder always._ _

___.__ _

__“Wait wait wait; what happened?” Geoff rubbed his temples._ _

__Michael cursed through his teeth as Jack tugged on the bandaged he was wrapping a bit too hard, “Two assholes came out of the woods and attacked me.” He explained and threw a nasty glare at the ginger helping him._ _

__Resting his chin on his folded hands, Geoff eyed his partner and smirked, “Something tells me that’s not entirely true.”_ _

__A tense silenced passed, and as soon as Michael’s dressings were set Jack eagerly fled to a barely conscious Ryan’s side. He bristled, “Well I guess I attacked first- but that doesn’t matter.” His auburn eyes flicked over to Ryan, the golden blood still staining the grass and his white shirt (his jacket now lying over the branch of a tree; singed and torn just waiting to be mended). The Look did not bode well for the incapacitated man, “They were Creators, like _him_ ”_ _

__Geoff sensed the displeasure in his tone, especially after a mumbled accusation of “Scum…” hit the air and thickened the silence. Geoff didn’t know what to do, especially because he could not deny the strange coincidences following their meeting Ryan; he hadn’t dealt with so much grief in such a short amount of time before then, and he doubted his troubles would end any time soon._ _

___.__ _

__Brandon stared crookedly from his place many paces behind Miles, his eyes darting guiltily from the stranger they were all talking with, and the grey/blue of Mile’s shoulder armor- catching the, now fading, light of the day. The journey for him had seemed longer than Miles insisted it was, and so Brandon contributed it to his experience, and his lack of flight-time and cross-country travel that rendered him tired and fatigued after a day of almost nonstop flying._ _

__The sun was beginning to hide itself below the tree line, which happened to be tall with a thick canopy of wilderness that acted as its own horizon: the jungle, one of the last, he knew. He and his companions stood in the sands on the shore, though some floated to avoid a sandy mess in their shoes and boots later. Personally Brandon didn’t mind the intrusiveness of the sediment, in fact he rather enjoyed the feel of the earthy materials against his skin; skin soft and fair if not tan, that his life of privilege kept him from soiling, hardening, or otherwise numbing himself to the queer textures. Sand was like a silk blanket tangled around his feet after a warm shower as the sand crept through his leather boots to rub against his un-socked feet; he swallowed a chuckle._ _

__His attention was back on the stranger, a young man, or one who appeared to be young anyway, who stood with the stature of someone older than Matt –who at age 410 was the oldest person he knew- but as previously observed appeared very young despite the comparison. His hair was a short, curly brown that half-hid a green, slit-pupil eye in the middle of his forehead, and stuck up in tufts where a pair of jagged, angular black horns protruded from his scalp. The garbs he wore seemed as old as he acted; closely resembling silver-aged mannerisms and dress alike: black robes with purple trim and dark grey boots, and a grey hooded cape combo rested on his shoulders, clasped in the front by a wide, twisting iron notch that continued around his shoulders and down his arms as the most ineffective armor he’d ever seen._ _

__Although he was being riddled with questions, the stranger kept a distant repose and a firm expression of contempt; again, very indicative of a silver-age Creator and their atypical self-righteous air. There were pink particles that drifted lazily around his head and from the hems of his clothing. His eyes, or rather one of them, was dull, and Brandon noted, how dark grey it was, which affirmed his suspicion towards the man’s age._ _

__Although what really confused him was the wide, unblinking, and freakishly malformed right eye. It resembled a regular human eye in the same way a cat resembles a dog: not entirely the same, and in this case, one was swollen and veiny and seemed forced open and a glowing pink hue where his iris would be, inky blackness where a white sclera should be taking up residence, and in place of a rounded pupil was a purple slit that was barely discernibly from the pink iris. It looked to be bleeding._ _

__Brandon was not brave in moments like that, he tended to shy away from strangers regardless of their social caste due to a timid nature vs. true necessity; and here he found his legs refusing to step forward to even ask Miles who the stranger was._ _

__He thought he heard the name Jenzen, but the name rang no bells._ _


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ey so I don't think this chapter moves the story along as much as I'm trying to cement the characters, but I hope you enjoy reading!

Ryan was half-hallucinating, he knew because after a century and a half of life, one learns to tell the difference between reality and the fantasies their self-conscious forces upon them. And he was no stranger to seeing what he thought could no longer be seen; his head was a fan of distracting him in the worst possible times with the vivid recollections of horrible memories that Ryan tried so hard to hide from everyone including himself (because not even he had the guts to face that which he had already faced).

The gentle movements and occasional jerks as he rode along on someone’s back (Jack; he figured out after semi-consciously dancing deft fingers over a rough bandolier with smooth round bottles on it) began lulling him into a rhythm to keep his head from being jarred too roughly. 

Behind his eyelids he hummed along to a nursery rhyme, chasing after his oldest sister, who as she aged, was more or less humoring a toddler-aged Ryan. His white and gold tunic was still too long for him and he had not yet mastered flying, although he did give it a solid try and ended up doing a barrel roll onto his ass, getting right back up to chase his sister. He was laughing; he hadn’t laughed like that in decades- so pure and happy.

Jack felt Ryan stir minutely on his back, shifting his hold and whispering a silent assuring to their fevered friend that they would find a good place to rest and he could work on brewing. Lord knows the group needed it. Looking ahead at his companions, Jack sighed, feeling helpless despite the many promises as to how useful he was: Ray was still limping noticeably on his left leg from the stumble on the bridge, Gavin on his right leg from the still un-healed wound on his calf. Geoff was still coughing but at least he wasn’t spitting out blood anymore, and Michael was full on ignoring the bleeding gap in his forearm. And of course there was Ryan, high temperature, exposed bone protruding from his damaged, bleeding legs.

He wasn’t being of any help, despite the fact that they made their grand expedition to the Nether and returned successful if not charred. Part of him assumed he was still running on the adrenaline of the excursion because he had been experiencing a strange lack of hyperventilation and anxiety. He had felt a happy flutter to his chest when Ray kissed his cheek and told him how brave he’d been, however; perhaps he was just getting better at controlling his anxiety. 

Ryan forced his eyes opened a crack, and although he saw Ray a few paces ahead, he was looking at a head of long blonde hair he recognized; a girl from the kingdom next-over who had promised to teach him how to create. The girl who’s lessons were always interrupted when she heard someone in need of help and flew off to assist any way she could. Ryan remembers watching on in childlike wonderment; he had not seen such unrequited kindness in his life, certainly not from his near abusive brothers or un-sympathetic parents. His sister had been the kindest person he’d know till then; caring and protective but confused and easily angered, which was a large improvement to the others in Ryan’s strangely lackluster childhood.

The blonde head of hair would turn to him and smile kindly, she had very white teeth but one in the very front was chipped, and one other cracked; she would say that since her parents were both Adventurers she would get a lot of grief from other kids in the neighboring lands and got into a lot of fights. Ryan was convinced she could never lose a fight; she was the strongest person he knew. He strained to remember a name: he plucked the name Barbara from the front of his head with a self-satisfied smile. Although their time together, some of the best memories from the few Ryan can still enjoy, was brief for she was being mentored by a harsh man who did not ordain her visits to the kingdom of Ryan’s father.

He saw that man a few times, he was the exiled young prince to a broken and especially corrupt kingdom, the one Ryan knew from his father’s many meetings with him; sending the sadistic-looking man out to fulfill bounties. To this day Ryan hates Heymann for being an intricate part of his youth. 

He’s suddenly torn from his memories, the swishing blonde hair shrinks back to Ray’s charcoal curls, tinted orange from the setting sun. He feels his limbs twitch as he’s suddenly pulled into a more alert consciousness. 

The imagery assaults the back of his eyes. Yes, in fact, to this day he hates Heymann. Hates how he watched him bully a hardly 14 year old Barbara until she could panic through a simple summoning exercise, hates how he watched uselessly as he destroyed a village leaving one ruined man knelt in the blood of his family with his sister lying limp in his arms, hates how not even a year earlier he watched Heymann release a band of Creepers on an unsuspecting couple in the woods just outside some quiet city, and he hates him for killing someone Ryan promised to protect the day he found him sitting in the woods with a rose in his small fist.

So yes, there was never any doubt, Ryan hated Joel Heymann, the False King, the Never King: that’s why he decided to be the one to kill him.

Ryan was the one who stood with a red velvet robe draped over him and cut down Joel with little effort, his blood was so metallic and lacked the golden luster his own did: Joel was a very old Creator, his blood dulled by time and psychopathy. Ryan continued to fool members of his own caste into believing this group of misfit Survivors was of any use to their equally made-up plot to harness the energy of the Earth, all the while keeping his identity hidden in the shadows. The hooded cape was crammed into the bottom of his knapsack, he was sure if he looked he would still find dried crackles of Heymann’s blood along the hem. 

_._

Brandon looked away, he swore the Eye of Ender on the stranger’s forehead was looking right at him. Now Miles was at his side, chuckling and nudging him with his shoulder, “Calm down it’s an illusion; it always looks like it’s looking at everybody.” That didn’t necessarily ease his hesitations.

From what he’d managed to squeeze out of Miles, this guy was almost as old as Matt, but no one was exactly sure, but they did know that there are temples with his face carved into them, stories in old-speak that tell of the Ender King flying on his dragon to level cities and steal riches. 

Possible fictitious exaggerations aside, Miles was able to explain how he came from an old silver-aged kingdom, one which he refused to rule despite many a person’s plea to do so; he was happy as a high duke although he acted as the Queen’s right-hand; a very loyal, dedicated soldier to her- a young Adventurer queen bearing the name Tuggey. Many say they were dear friends for as long as they both lived, and that even as that queen passed and her daughter took over the throne with a firm hand a gentle heart not unlike her mother, Jenzen lived on he continued to stick by the Tuggey lineage, acting as a trusted consultant, protector, and friend to every member of the family sharring the name The stories say he was born of an egg as black as night, with horns and wings, hunters trapped him and burned his wings off before he could free himself and kill his captors. The ground he walked on for many years was an eggshell stone, and the company he kept were of sickly reverence with inky skin and bleeding pink eyes.

His right eye had been a gift, as they say, from the one creature said to be his mother, so he would always be able to see his home; strangely homely and sentimental in comparison to the bloody novel ahead. The eye on his forehead had been genetic, proved who he was: what he was. He had been given the human name Kdin Jenzen.

“So where’s your dragon?” Chris, the skinny, jittery kid Brandon had met only a few times, asked with an excited grin.

Kdin looked unamused, but obliged, “The dragons’ lives are limited to a century exactly, each century I am gifted a new one, though I am currently in the phase of raising my newest.” His tone seemed to change to something of legitimate fondness, “She is eager to please but too excitable; she will be good to ride one day.” 

Brandon swallowed hard, he did not like the way Jenzen seemed to be looking everywhere but never at anything or anyone specifically, and he would shift his shoulders a lot, cracking them, turning them, jutting out more forward than the other- subtly enough that Brandon only noticed because he had nothing else to focus on.

He wondered idly if Joel would be showing up to their meeting.

_._

Geoff tapped lucidly on his lips again, “Okay just…how the fucking fuck do you do that?” He wondered incredulously, tired eyes cast on the hurriedly assembled wood shelter supported heavily by a small grouping of oak trees and their entwined branches. Jack, sweaty and looking a bit worn, looked up confused for a moment before chuckling and mumbling an offhanded regard. 

Jack, for what it was worth, was glad he at least had a frame done as the sun was beginning to spray its last few beams over the thin forest and stretching the shadows to their highest curve and taking with it the warmth it brought. Geoff felt the goose bumps tickle the strips of barely exposed skin where his turtleneck collar slipped down and the back of his shirt rode up enough for the cold to nip him like a small dog. He was convinced he was born to be a dad one day, because Geoff found himself putting his ailments aside as his protective instincts seemed to be more and more prominent as the cold set in, and he was suddenly worried about Michael’s exposed arms and legs, and Gavin’s unrelenting infection still being exposed to dirt and grime.

Once he got to thinking about it he began picking out all the details, such as Ray favoring the right half of his body making his limp even more prominent, and Jack not being able to lift so much as a foot wide junk of oak because of his muscle strain, not to mention every little cut and bruise detailing each one of their frame’s. 

Gavin was kneeled by the small fire he was tending to, slowly putting in dry logs and stoking the embers, seeming to be little-affected by the heat radiating in waves against his still-burned face. He saw Michael stealing glances at the green-clad man, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and worry, “Get your scarf away idiot before you burn it _again._ ”

For once, Gavin heeded him and tugged off his scarf and tossed it to the side. Michael saw the browning scar tissue that marred his neck in a long jagged line; again his expression went rigid. He wasn’t one to say anything, didn’t think other people’s injuries were his problem. “I know you can see it, I can’t tell you how I got it: my memory is a bit shot.” Gavin mumbled with a tired smile. Michael shifted awkwardly, shoulders tense and lips drawn into a tight line, “Someone on my block told me my brother got drunk and tried to fight me with his knife; scarred me here.” He traced the fading mark with the pad of his index finger. 

Barely half-awake, propped up against a tree near Jack and Ray, Ryan looked over hardly coherent and touched his own collarbone; he had similar scars.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey so this chapter involves some slurs and derogatory language that I do not condone the use of but for the sake of developing a particularly heinous character I made use of them, please do not use them in the real world they are horrible and socially unacceptable.   
> (Also disclaimer: I'm sure Gav's brother is a really cool dude but for story telling purposes Gav's character has an asshole older brother)

It had to be earlier than 6 at least, looking out his window he saw the dark sky barely fazed by any morning light; no bird call, no barking dogs- too early to be being woken by a frenzied banging in the other room. He kicked his legs out from under his blankets, being at the tender age of 16 his body was not exactly cooperating in maneuvering himself over the cobble floors to the door on the opposite side of the short room. “ _Gaviiiiin!_ ” He heard his name screamed from the front room in the ramshackle house.

He fumbled at the door handle and pushed it open with a faint creaking and was not nearly as loud as the crashing he heard beyond it, “Fucking plebs don’t know what they’ve done.” The dis-shelved man stood in the foyer with a brown bottle clutched in his fist. His lip was bloody and his knuckles were bruised and he had a ten mile stare that contorted when he saw Gavin standing in the doorway with a sleepy, confused grimace. “Hey…uh…kid- Gavin! Right,” The man slurred, rubbing his temples. “The fuck are you looking at?”

Gavin sighed and stepped into his oversized, hand-me-down shoes and reached for his brother’s arm, “C’mon Johnny let’s go get you some water-“ 

“Get d’fuck off me ya’ fucking fag-!” He growled and threw back another swig of whatever unmarked alcohol he was inhaling. 

Put-off by the exceptionally violent frenzy, Gavin took a deep breath and held his hands up in surrender, “You’re drunk,” He pointed out quietly though all reasoning was futile. 

“Damn right m’drunk, I have to put up with you and all m’fucking retarded friends.” He threw the bottle violently against the wall and it shattered loudly followed by the small twinkling as the shards hit the floor. Gavin inhaled sharply and took a step back, hand clamoring over the wall over the splintered wood to find the door handle back to his room; his breath was loud in his ears and he silently berated himself for not just staying in bed; always trying to be the helpful brother- never got him anywhere. 

Johnny looked at him crookedly, his eyes not entirely focused as his stare bore into the teen half-cowering against the wall. He knelt down to pick up the neck of the broken bottle, the ends shattered into rum-dipped tips that caught the faint light in the room. With little care he waved it around in his hand and gestured at Gavin, “You’re kinda a pain in m’butt ain’tja? Always runnin’ off n’ not bringing back enough food; bloody little ingrate you are.” The older man’s eyes were dangerous and hazy as he stepped closer: Gavin swallowed hard. “Never sayin’ thank ye’. Just a dopey little spaf always fucking m’life up.” He growled, and lunged.

Michael started when he heard a strangled cry from beside him and a sharp elbow jab him in his already bruised ribs, he was going to yell until he saw the younger man curled up on his side, breathing hard and crying but still asleep. He didn’t know what to do, he stared for a moment dumfounded and worried. Carefully he reached out and touched Gavin’s shoulder, feeling it shake and shy away from his touch- another cry ripped from his throat like he was being attacked.

Panicking, Michael grabbed the lad by his shoulders and hauled him back to lay in his lap, now feeling the tremors on his legs. Gavin thrashed about and sobbed, hands clawing at the ground, gripping at Michael’s clothes, or just pushing out at his invisible attacker. “Gavin!” Michael screamed, shaking his torso in a vain attempt to pull his companion from the nightmare. “Wake up you fucking mong!” He used what strength he could muster in a pair of lethargic arms to half-hug, half-strangle Gavin until he stopped screaming. 

It didn’t work necessarily, but his erratic crying eased and was replaced by a struggle thrashing that sent his jagged elbows into Michael’s sides again, accidentally pummeling the Hunter’s ribs until they burned and his anger was boiling over. But somewhere he found patience from the empathy he felt watching Gavin struggle for his life in his sleep. 

Before he could say anything else, Geoff was on his knees in front of him, eyes crusted from being torn from sleep, “Gav buddy c’mere-“ It was like Michael wasn’t even there when Geoff pulled the shaking man from his lap and braced him against the nearest tree. “Wake up kid, wake up!” Geoff apparently was only good at consoling Michael because Gavin seemed ill-fazed by his ministrations and continued crying, until Geoff made a face, got his canteen and splashed water on his face. 

Gavin swore that he could feel where the broken bottle pierced his arm, and where Johnny slashed at his collar bone; swore he could feel the blood seeping into his shirt and the cold air that burned his entire torso when he ran from the house just to get away. His legs itched to run, he registered someone in front of him- the town missionary, eyes angled worried as he flawed his holy hands with his blood. He pushed by and tried to run, but he didn’t get far before his world spun and he fell over, but he never hit the ground as a pair of arms surrounded him not unlike he felt before. 

He was eased to the ground as the pain faded away from his chest and his collar bone didn’t feel as if he wanted to rip it out anymore. His eyes focused and the night sky opened above him in a disorientating array of never-ending lights like torches littered throughout his hometown, dizzying him and making his head throb against his skull. Under the strain of his own memories Gavin struggled against the arms holding him in place, unable to take his brother’s face off of the figures surrounding him. 

He tried to console himself by thinking of the abusive man’s premature death, but that only made him sick to his stomach and sick of himself. His heart swirled with freshly disturbed hatred- he clenched his hands in the grass he could feel, imagining his brother’s wrists cracking under his strength: payback for every scar that littered Gav’s body, for every waking nightmare that left dark circles under his eyes for days on end. 

As his chest slowed and his breathing evened, and Gavin haphazardly responded to a few of the frenzied questions that came through the mist in his head- he silently thanked his brother for finally leaving, or for being killed- Gavin didn’t particularly care what wording to use, he was just glad that with his passing came his stride for independence. He no longer felt the obligation to care for his troubled sibling.

Ryan was only disturbed when the noise stopped and the sudden lack of frenzied voices made him open his eyes and sit up, he was confused enough to ignore the stabbing burn manifesting itself below his waist. He listened as Geoff spoke rapidly to calm Gavin down, who had apparently woken from a nightmare; he was scraping and grabbing at his chest where Ryan knew old scars were. 

_._

Ryan pressed his back against a tree hard enough to feel it splinter through his jacket, he was over a hundred fucking years old and he still got sick seeing blood. He breathed hard and held his head, trying to calm his swelling nausea and swimming vision.

There was rustling in the trees that wasn’t due to the nonexistent breeze, so he quitted his panicked body and listened- pulling the red hood over his near-orange hair to hide his visage. 

“C’mon Brando’.” Ryan heard the hushed whisper in the hollow void of night and recognized it from a lifelong of silently listening. It was Heyman.

The aging Creator had a younger man in tow who still floated along in his youthful over-eagerness, in his arms he had a bundle of green tinted eggs with uneven black splotches that were cracked and dented, probably because they’d stolen the clutch from a Creeper’s nest and the mother had gone nova in defense. 

Ryan heard slightly more distant voices, soft giggles and the tell-tale sounds of a teenage dream going on a few meters through the trees- he suddenly felt he knew Joel’s intentions: such a sick and deranged man with his easily impressionable, and loyal, young companion could only find amusement in such foul sport upon humans. 

With all caution he snuck closer until he could see Heyman’s fading purple cloak hanging down from the branch he was perched on; he was lowering the forcedly hatched Creepers to the ground within sight of a young couple of humans, one with an unusually large nose. Ryan reached out but stalled himself, willing his legs not to move and voice not to call out as the beasts neared the unsuspecting pair.

There was nothing he could do without breaking years of undercover work, without proving the innocence of the persona he’d taken on that was supposed to be the scourge of the planet. 

He waited, and did more listening: listened to the initial explosion, to one high-pitched scream- figuring out for himself that the male had been offed quickly. Two more explosions quickly succeeded and then it was quiet for a mere few seconds before Heyman’s deranged cackling echoed through the trees.

Ryan knew if he stepped a meter or so closer that one tree would be out of his line of sight and he would see the bloody mess sopped into a collective 3 craters, so he just slowly backed away and stayed hidden in the darkness of the forest until the two other Creators flew off to find amusement elsewhere.

It was at the crack of dawn that he woke fitfully, nearly falling off the tree branch he had bunkered down on, to a heavily accented voice calling out in the surrounding area. “Johnny!” Ryan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and floated to the ground gently, his long cloak flowing behind him like a bloody river. He flew silently through the trees until a flash of something that wasn’t tree bark caught his eye: a young man dressed in a simply tunic and an unfinished scarf. With his dis-shelved hair and bright eyes he couldn’t have been older than his mid-twenties, but his look of passive indifference upon seeing what could’ve only been the bloody remains of someone he knew betrayed the youthful countenance. Though this world was harsh and made the young age quickly to avoid being broken. 

“Didn’t even wish me a happy birthday ya’ pleb.” Ryan heard the young man whisper, and watched as he kicked the dirt and turned on his heels to leave. There were dark bruises on his arms and neck that weren’t unlike fingertips, and his freshly cut lip did not look self-inflicted, and somehow Ryan figured that the kid had just been relieved of a huge burden and so did not feel so bad for standing idly by.

In the back of his mind, Ryan made a note to put Brandon under Miles’ care to save the kid’s mind from being polluted by Heyman’s.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's still Thursday but it's Friday somewhere so I'm updating, I also feel bad for not updating for like a month, school and life has been a huge hassle especially starting college and just argh, sorry readers, I will never orphan this fic it's just hard to sit down and right nowadays.

“Heard you were helping that peasant kid.” The voice grated on Ryan’s nerves as he turned to face his sister. Since the demise of their father’s kingdom she had made it her sport to follow him around and make his business her own, which interfered with his desire for self-repentance. 

Ryan snarled, “Leave me be, who I choose to help is my business.” He flew off in a huff to try and shake her off. 

But her persistence was unmalleable and she followed easily since she had taken the flight genes from their parents if not the social caste. “Yes because who you’ve chosen to help has been so beneficial in the past.” Ryan ignored her and continued on over the grasslands, and refused to let the words get to him, “The downfall of our family name ring any bells?” She murmured, “The destruction of our home maybe?”

“Our father ruined our name long before I, or even you were born.” He proclaimed agitatedly. 

His blonde-haired sibling (who, as it should be noted, was named Katherine) snorted, “Ah yes but _you_ caused the riot that killed our family and sent our kingdom into fire and hate.” She jabbed an accusing finger at his chest.

He swatted her hand away, “ _Your_ kingdom was in flames the day _your_ father took the throne, and from the very beginning it was fueled by hate. So don’t act for a fucking second that it was **me** who lit the embers. Don’t act like your father’s ignorance and intolerance wasn’t there, don’t act like you don’t know about those he murdered for the sport of it.” Ryan coughed hard after shouting, holding his throat and flying higher to test her persistence.

“ _My_ father, _my_ kingdom? Don’t try and alienate yourself from us, you act as if you were not the prodigal son who inherited the powers of our blood line!” Her voice was rising in volume and octave and she looked torn between anger and sadness. “You act as though your life was so hard…you were the pure one with the golden blood, a Creator like our parents with our grandfather’s ginger hair and…” Katherine stopped, swallowed whatever words she had prepared and stared down her baby brother; the only one she had left, “Other people suffered, you weren’t affected, why did you ever care _so_ much?”

Ryan stopped and landed uneasily on his feet, his shoulders tense and breath quiet, “No one else did.” He spoke quietly.

Katherine didn’t say a word, her sarcasm and condescension caught before it hit the air; the words stole her understanding of her sibling, what little she knew to begin with and she stood silently. She watched Ryan’s shoulders twitch and turn taught before her as the breeze caught his near-brown locks and the flowing hem of his kilt and jacket; tall and squared in sharp contrast to the chubby child in oversized hand-me-downs.

It was the quaver in his voice that betrayed his noble (or not-so) stature, the skittishness evident in the way he lived that contradicted the strong words he spoke. And possibly the more prevalent aspect was the fear in his eyes which had replaced the wonderment of youth: his pupils were always constricted as if he were afraid something would jump out at him at any moment, and maybe he was right to fear: so many wanted him dead. 

Though he was not the same kid brother she taught to fly, nor the one she carried away from danger to protect his innocence; his hair wasn’t orange and his heart wasn’t gold- and he had changed.

“No one else,” Ryan speaks quietly, “ _Ever_ ….cared. So, I needed to. Not because I was affected directly, not because caring benefited me in any way, and not because I thought I could fix anything alone.” He floated higher and curled in on himself till his knees touched his chest, “I needed people, _other_ people, the people who could do something about it, _ie_ : your father- to hear me and understand that what they were doing was wrong.” He breathes out shakily, “That every person deserves the same respect, no matter their social caste.”

Katherine crossed her arms and stood firmly on the ground with her heels together and glared confusedly at him, “For the prodigal Haywood kid you’re a fucking weirdo.” She spat venomously.

Ryan disregarded her spite and flew off. He felt like he could cry, but he hadn’t in a long time so that possibility was hardly a legitimate concern. The village he flew within sight of glowed faintly on the horizon, and only one stone tower stood above the ramshackle buildings surrounding it. He landed daintily and pulled a dark red cape from his bag. It snagged the buckle and tore it but it wasn’t a huge concern of his since the cloth was littered with holes and tears. He walked the rest of the way until the toe of his boot sunk into the gravel walkways and he heard the humming noises of the hushed town. 

Walking until he came upon a house no bigger than a tool shed, Ryan opened the door quietly and snuck his head in to see the small bundle curled up on the straw mattress wrapped in not-so-soft looking blankets. He smiled softly, but there was a sad grimace to it that betrayed the action. Stepping in silently, Ryan put his bag on the ground of dried, packed mud, and snuck over to the small cot to sit on the end of it without disturbing the peace. 

“Geoff,” Ryan cooed, “Geoff you have to get up you’ve been asleep for-“ putting a hand on the side of the bundle he noticed it give under his palm. He stared crookedly and pulled back the blanket to find a stained pillow crumpled beneath. Something in his chest leapt into his throat then fell to plop unsettlingly in the pit of his stomach. The kid was no more than a toddler where could he have-

“Uncle Ryan!” Ryan heard the high pitched screeched and turned around just in time for a raggedy child in black garbs to jump from the cross-beam into his arms. Ryan reacted instinctively and wrapped his arms around the child’s frame and held him as if dropping him would cause him to shatter. 

He breathed out shakily as his heart returned to his chest, but he slowly started to chuckle, “Don’t do that to me, I’m old, my heart can’t take it.” He swings the child around and places him on the bed, only for him to jump back up and scramble up the splintering side of his wooden drawers. 

Matted brown bangs flopped unceremoniously in his face as Geoff giggled, “You’re not old uncle Ryan! You don’ look it anyway.”

Ryan chuckled somewhat guiltily, “Well let’s just say I’ve never looked my age.” He grabbed the child around the waist before he could scale the wall again. “Hey c’mere.” He sat down and held a young Geoff on his knee, “You know what today is?” 

Geoff beamed, “It’s my birthday!” 

“And how old are you?”

Geoff giggled and held up his hands, sticking up all 5 digits on one hand and 3 on the other, “Seven!” 

Laughing, Ryan gently pressed one of Geoff’s fingers down, “That’s one too many squirt.” 

There was a knock on the door, and Ryan barely had time to shove Geoff under the cot, silence him, and pull his hood up to cover the greater portion of his face before the door opened and a sick looking man with stringy brown hair, hallow features, and a silver crown stared at him crookedly. “I was told a child lived here.” He stated in a strangely youthful voice that contradicted his aging complexion. 

Ryan knew this man and was grateful that he wasn’t recognized, so he lowered his voice and made it as throaty as possible, “Died last week, hypothermia I believe. I bunked here for the night.” He coughed, “I’m just passing through.” 

“Hm,” The other man hummed and crossed his arms, “And who are you?” His voice was thick with superiority and condescension, but the deranged kind that Ryan was used to hearing because it wasn’t completely unlike how his father used to speak. 

His anger flared, and he surprised himself when he lurched forward and summoned his magic to pin the poor excuse for a king to the wall, almost enjoying the pained squeak that came out of him as his back collided with the wall. A faint purple hue trapped his wrist and neck against the wood. Ryan choked a moment later; he had no idea what he was going to say, he had talked to maybe two people outside of his family before now and he was far from accustomed to social interaction, especially when that social interaction involved him threatening a deranged king’s life.

“It’s none of your concern, Heyman.” He withdrew his magic and slipped his arms beneath his cloak and stood motionless as the man before him sputtered and coughed and tried to get some air. 

“How d’ya know me.” He panted, rubbing his neck and fixing his crown back in place. There was fear in his eyes and Ryan recognized it and manipulated his irises to glow white to continue his ruse; he figured if he’s already fabricating a lie he might as well dig himself deeper.

“That’s none of your concern either.” Ryan said, “But I know you, and I know what you do, and I’m not happy with it.” He growled, hardly lying about that. Suddenly an idea came to mine as he saw Joel cowering before him, having no idea who Ryan was but knowing he was strong; and although Ryan was always strong, he was ill-practiced and could hardly focus his magic and energy to do much of anything, but he had the intimidation factor and he was going to use it.

He didn’t know exactly what he was going to use it for, he hardly knew what to do with the recent end of the golden age and the destruction of his family’s kingdom. In fact he was half tempted to expose himself and allow the half-king take out his rage on him; maybe it would kill him, he decided he wouldn’t mind such an outcome considering his lack of purpose and anyone who gave a shit about him. 

What he did know is that if he could do anything before living out his long lifespan alone and suicidal he would try to fix the wrongs he did against the people he’d promised to protect, whether said wrongs were accidental or not. Ryan was a Haywood not without honor. 

“But I need you, and any other Creators willing to help.” No, that sounded too charitable for the likes of Heyman, Ryan knew he would do nothing unless it benefitted him in some way. So he considered furthering his lie and fabricated a false motive of- “I refuse to let the land of my forefathers fall so easily into ruin because of one stupid child.” He growled. 

Joel seemed intrigued and looked him up-and-down, trying to look past the shadow of the robe, “Ah, yes, you mean the Haywood prince. Right mess that one was.” Joel began crossing his arms, “Taught himself _morals_ \- what a pathetic feat.” He waved a hand around in the air as if this were common gossip. “I think I might’ve killed him I dun’know.” 

Ryan discretely moved a hand to his chest where he remembered the shimmering sword piercing his skin and protruding from his back, after only a year there was still a scar and the ghost of the pain. “Regardless, I need followers.” Joel promised him he could help before flying out, brown cape trailing behind him.

Once Heyman was out of sight Ryan let out a long breath and shook the hood off, rubbing his temples and shaking his head until his eyes returned to their normal blue. He felt a major headache setting in from focusing his magic as much as he did. “Sorry Geoff I-“ He knelt down to look under the cot and Geoff wasn’t there. He stood and turned around and saw the child standing in the middle of the shack with his hands held in small fists at his side; his eyes were red and he looked about to cry. “Geoff what’s wrong?” 

Ryan stepped forward with his arms out worriedly but as soon as he took the first step Geoff pulled out a small wooden airsoft shooter and fired a sharpened wooden spike that stuck into his collar, drawing out a drop of his golden blood; it hardly phased him but he stood stock still and looked shocked at the child.

Geoff let out a choked sob and began to cry, “You want to bring the b-bad people back-“ He breathed shakily and began backing away, “You wanna bring back the people who killed my mommies!”

“No no no, Geoff, honey, I was lying. That was a bad bad man-“ He held the lad’s shoulders for a moment before the child jerked away and backed up almost to the door, “Geoff-“

“You’re just as bad as _them_.” Geoff spoke hushed through his tears and then ran out the door. 

Ryan’s throat tightened and again he felt as if he could cry- he wouldn’t but he felt like he wanted to- he sat back on the straw cot and held his head as his headache pounded against his skull in fiery succession. The words stung him and tore his patchwork heart apart more so than watching his family die in the riot; because they had never been a family, he had taken Geoff as his family, and once again he’d lost it. 

He screamed and punched the wall of the rickety shack hard enough to punch through the splintering wood and cause his knuckles to bleed. There was another person on his list of those he had something to make it up to. 

He left Geoff’s present on the cot (a green helmet with an orange visor) as well as all the money the lad would need to buy what he required. Then he left, he knew if he stayed he would only ruin the life of another person he loved.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated, my laptop was in the shop and i just got a replacement cos they couldn't fix her. I apologize but I hope you're still willing to read, I really appreciate your patience!  
> Also when I started writing this I don't even know if Kdin was working as an active AH/RT member but writing him into the story has been so fun (ps someone should draw their interpretation of him 8D )

Unsurprisingly it was Michael who woke up fitfully in the night as a burning sear tore through his arm, and this time seeped as high as his shoulder and caused his torso to quake and pull him from his light slumber. He was uncharacteristically noisy as he exited the building (which Jack promised was no great feat regardless of its ineffable craftsmanship) his fingers were fat and clumsy as he buckled his belt and bandolier, his legs were wobbly, his eyes were unfocused, and his brain seemed to be pounding hard against the front, back, and sides of his skull.

His shoulder hit the frame of the door as the frigid air hit him in the face upon walking out, breath condensing in front of him as he stumbled forward to the bucket of icy water hung from a thick tree branch. He dipped his numb hands into the water and splashed it on his face despite the initial sting of, what felt like, liquid ice-cap he repeated the action as his eyes began to focus. 

In a rush he flipped his torso to reach for a drying rag and incidentally ended up scraping his wounded arm against the rough bark of the tree. He ground out a curse and clutched his bleeding forearm to his middle, putting as much pressure around it as he could without causing more pain. He looked at his injury scornfully. The area around the cut was puffy and the exposed redness was beginning to collect a disconcerting yellow hue. Michael knew an infected cut when he saw one, but that didn’t mean he ever learned how to treat one once it was already infected.

Behind him he heard the door of the hut open and close and footsteps beginning to hesitantly move towards him, evident by the slowly crackling of the grass hardened by frozen dew. “What?” Michael spit before whoever it was could say anything. 

The sound stopped but Michael could still hear weak breathing, he figured it was Geoff, who had been having breathing problems since he came down from the worst bit of tuberculosis. “Try…putting th…this on it.” The voice was low, but scratchy and strained that made it so quiet in the vastness of the woods. 

Michael turned, “Ryan…” What was normally anger towards the Creator was still dissipated in place of worry for the injured man. His legs still looked a bloody mess even if the bones had healed themselves and his muscles were growing back; he was half-floating, seemingly relying on his flight to keep him upright.

His head flopped to one side before he shook himself back up, eyes droopy, “Here.” He visibly muscled out, and tried to summon the strength in his arm to lift the half-full bottle of pink liquid. 

Sighing, Michael stepped forward, momentarily forgetting his own pain, “Get back inside Ry’ and lay down.” 

“Here-“ Ryan thrust his quaking arm forward and made Michael take ahold of the bottle, and used the force to propel himself back towards the cabin. 

Michael looked at the bottle in his hands and back at the man staggering back towards where he could collapse from pain and exhaustion. He sighed and let his arms flop at his sides, one hand holding the potion loosely, “Thanks.” He mumbled. Ryan stopped and looked back groggily; his icy blues looking tired and features pale and hollowed out. 

“Technically Jack was still brewing it, but I just-“ Ryan stopped and breathed, resting a hand on the building for support, “I just put another bottle in its place, so-“ Another pause. He swallowed and let out a noisy breath, “So just put that one back in Jack’s bag.” 

Michael nodded but otherwise remained quiet. He watched Ryan scoot himself towards the door of the shack, then watched his left knee quiver and give out; Ryan knelt in the frost-covered grass and ground his teeth together. In an eased flurry the Hunter was by his side with one arm around his shoulder and the other on his arm, but still he was quiet and listened to the Creator choke down miniscule, choked sobs, and felt his body tremor as paroxysms of pain shot through him. The fog that was his breath was coming out in short, quick puffs into the night air; needless to say Michael was concerned.

_._

“So there isn’t a dragon?” Chris asked for what seemed like the fifth time. Brandon rolled his eyes but giggled when Kara elbowed him in the side. The Jenzen fellow was flying ahead of them and slowed, turning to fly alongside the thin Creator, and Chris seemed to shy away. 

“I have a dragon,” Kdin began with a patient air, “In fact I have many, but only one is of pure blood. You can have one of the small ones if you’d like.” He said.

Chris’ face lit up, “Really?” Kdin nodded and propelled himself forward to the front of the pack again. 

“Do _you_ want a dragon Brando?” Brandon turned and punched Miles’ arm playfully.

He laughed despite himself, “No! What would I do with a dragon?” He wondered. Miles had no answer and so shrugged and fixed his caplet; the gold trim there always astounded Brandon with how shiny is was regardless of how down and dirty his mentor could get. He remembered being a child in the Sorola’s Kingdom and wanting so badly to have the same gold garbs the older Creators like Miles and Joel had. 

Brandon was jerked from his idle musings as Miles threw an arm out to stop him, hitting him in the chest. He went to protest but silenced himself when he saw their entire party stopped and silent before a hooded figure draped in red. “Sir.” Jenzen was the first to speak, and he did so with a shockingly careful tone. If this old lieutenant was scared then perhaps their ringmaster was someone worth fearing.

“Jenzen, you’ve arrived days before expected.” The same deep voice came from the blackened void of the hood but it sounded hoarse and strained as if he were angry: Kdin didn’t flinch. “I’m glad to see this posse has some true blooded leadership now. And from the old world no doubt.” 

A hand emerged from the slit in the cloak holding a pulsing Eye of Ender, the one on Kdin’s forehead pulsed as well until he held out his hand and the eye flew into his palm, his long nails stuck into the flesh until it began to disintegrate into nothing but a few pink flakes that were caught and lost by the wind. “Rather early than on time.” 

Brandon inched himself forward, “’Scuse me sir have you heard from Joel, I hav-“ Miles slapped a hand over his mouth and pulled him back. The others seem ill-phased by the youngling’s small voice. 

“How is the harvesting?” The hood turned towards Kara and Chris. Kara pushed her grey cloak out of the way and pulled a jagged, lumpy satchel from around her belt and used her _Creator’s Intuition_ to pull a small sum of blue crystals from the burlap sack.

She spun her hand, controlling the steady spin with a faint silvery glow as the chunks of mineral arranged themselves by size in the air, “The Sapphires, especially in this region, are scarce. If it weren’t for the blizzard pushing its way past the mountains I’d say we’d have an easier time finding them there.” She explained idly. 

Their red-cloaked leader turned his shoulder to look off west where clouds were noticeable even in the dusty pre-dawn slowly creeping up and filling the horizon. “You couldn’t find a beacon if it was right in front of your nose in that mess.” Miles piped up casually, folding his arms. 

Brandon huffed, “Have you possibly been in contact with King Heym-“

“There rich hills in the south, out of the path of the travelers.” Kdin added, “Essentially undetectable. Only a few families live there year round, and even when the weather is good; very few come.” His deformed eye spun and twitched and blinked at different intervals than his humanoid eye, which was distant and unlit as it had been all day. Watching curiously, Brandon could infer that Jenzen was probably more nervous inside than he was leading everyone into thinking he was. Or at least that’s what he assumed. Why else would the eye be twitching around like that?

Upon adjourning their meeting as soon as the sky began to turn gold, Kdin promised to catch up with Kara and Chris as the ringleader called him to talk privately. He watched the ripped, bloody hem of the cloak swish as the other Creator landed. For a minute or two, the hooded man said nothing and kept his back turned and shoulders hunched slightly; his breathing was still strained.

“They are doing their best sir.” Kdin muscled out.

“Hm,” The other mumbled, “So they are.” Another long pause then a chocked chuckle, “Chumps.”

Kdin couldn’t contain the burst of boisterous laughter that came from his throat, “You play your part well young prince.”

A hand came up and pulled back the red hood, showing off ginger-brown hair and ice blue eyes, “Oh please I’m hardly young anymore. And I have nowhere to be prince of.” He chuckled, as did Jenzen. “Kdin,” He reached out his arm to greet his friend but had his hand grabbed and pulled into a hug. 

“Ryan.” 

Chuckling again, Ryan pried himself away when he felt Kdin’s unnecessarily eccentric metal décor jabbing him in the neck. “How you doing? You look pale.” Kdin wondered.

Ryan sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, “It’s complicated,” He nudged the ends of his robe apart to show the slowly healing scar tissue all over his legs. Kdin seemed il-fazed. “I’ve been asleep for hours because of it, probably the most I’ve slept since we were children.” 

A small smile stayed on the Enderborn’s face, “You say _’we’_ but I remember visiting your father as Lady Tuggey’s denizen and seeing you just learning how to fly. I haven’t been a child for over 500 years my friend.” He put a friendly hand on Ryan’s back and began to lead him forward a few steps until the younger Creator grunted and tumbled again a tree. “Prince Hay-“

Ryan shot him a glare which was scary even if the owner was hunched over and leaning heavily on a tree in pain. Kdin sighed, “ _Ryan._ ” He rolled his eyes while looking worried, “You okay?” He inquired. Ryan nodded and straightened himself out a bit. 

“How is the begotten queen?” 

Kdin visibly deflated, “I haven’t seen her in a century Ry’.” With his voice drained and expression sour he did not look like the fearsome lieutenant he was made out to be in the runes. “She did what was best for her people: she disappeared.” 

Feeling the other man’s sadness, Ryan patted his shoulder, _“₸₪₪ↄ ⱷⱸⱹ ¥₪ †•נּ₪ࣧ.”_ He whispered in old speak, which was a language Ryan only had a loose tongue for from what he’d taught himself. The hitch in Kdin’s breath at least meant he had said the right thing. _’She will always be loved.’_

It was more empty reassurance because Ryan had seen the youngest of the Tuggey lineage once before the Golden age was ended, and vaguely remembered her bright smile and equally bright hair. But nothing much more. Stories maybe; of her kindness and tolerance, and the high walls of her mother’s kingdom that kept the world out and heir peace in. He knew not of where the princess had gone towards the end of the Creator’s reign, and certainly didn’t know if anyone still cared for her as Jenzen did.

But he knew how it felt to lose a best friend, to loose someone he’d promised to not abandon. Barbara had been his friend, one of his only friends outside his family that stayed by his side through his parents’ tyrannical tirades. She was tolerant and funny, but as soon as she came into his life she had disappeared; gone with the riots that ended his father’s kingdom. Not unlike the doubt that began to pick at the Tuggey’s trustable reign.

After her mother’s death, Ryan had learned, the young Tuggey daughter was given rule. She began letting outsiders in, and those outsiders planted discourse and she lost the love of her people. So she stepped down and ran, to protect the people she loved from tearing themselves apart. 

Ryan had seen Kdin kill for her, defend her until his voice was hoarse, and he’s assume she had done the same for him. So it was in his best interest to be supportive.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, shitty chapter just to plant some discourse. I'll be writing a seasonal filer chapter for either next week or the week after. 8)

Michael woke with a start. He couldn’t feel anything, he tried to move his fingers, they were stiff and refused to cooperate completely, they twitched when he tried to make a fist. There was no longer any pain in his arm, and he supposed that was a good thing because it had been really hurting him. But he wasn’t sure how he felt about not feeling _anything_.

He heard a loon calling off in the direction of the stream where they had gotten water from, “Fuck,” He groaned, shuffling himself up into a proper sitting position. His muscles protested but he made them respond and hunched over, willing his body to listen to him. 

He had slept outside. He couldn’t remember why. No; yes he did. Ryan hadn’t been able to walk back inside and collapsed again the outside wall, and Michael had stayed with him. He didn’t know why he did that, however. 

The sky was a pale cobalt, indicating the sun’s oncoming arrival, the forest around Mogar was foggy; he couldn’t see far beyond the few trees around their camp. The air was as cold as he felt, his breath was hot in the winter air. To him it felt as if he would never see the sun again.

“Michael!”

He hadn’t heard the door open, or the footsteps approaching him quickly. Jack grabbed his shoulder and recoiled, “You’re cold as ice, did you sleep out here? You idiot!” He shouted and began hefting the Hunter into his arms and mostly carrying him back inside. There wasn’t enough energy left in Michael to protest, and he knew Jack was worried, he knew Geoff and Gavin and Ray would be worried. Ryan probably would be too. 

“Ryan…?” Michael mumbled, surprisingly himself when he heard himself actually say it.

Jack looked down at him and sighed worriedly, kicking the door closed behind him. Ray was sitting up looking around groggily and fixing his mask on his face when Jack busted into their room with Michael slouched in his arms. “Jesus Christ what happened.”

Ray helped his companion peel off the half-frozen articles of clothing; his jacket, covered in frozen dew, was useless so they pulled it off Michael which left him in a blue shirt with splotches of old, dried blood on it. “I think he fell asleep outside, and Ryan’s gone too.” Jack explained as he grabbed a bundle of furs from the tightly packed satchel and wrapped the Hunter in them. 

Gavin padded in with nothing more than a sleeveless shirt and his dirty, ripped pants, it was a wonder how the lad stayed so warm even as the winter was engulfing them. “What’s wrong?” His accent sat thicker and heavier on his tongue as he rubbed his eyes and was questioning why a, now shirtless, Michael was being wrapped in blankets by two other men.

He was ignored because Jack pushed by him to hustle into the other room an turn all manner of knobs and pull out tubes from his brewing stand to release the bottles and added a dash of powder or some mashed up what-not, before jerking himself back into where Michael was. He put his hand on Michael’s neck, his fingers caught in the tangled auburn curls as he helped the Hunter swallow the pink liquid. 

Still passed out, Michael coughed a few times but began shifting and breathing easier, and was noticeably regaining the color along his cheeks and collarbone, then the seemingly eternal downwards crease of his eyebrows returned. 

_._

Geoff stirred many hours later, fitfully trying to return to slumber by wrapping his coarse blanket around him in different ways. The mat on the floor was not the most comfortable arrangement he’d ever been in, however he gave it the benefit of the doubt: it had been late when Jack labored over the shelter, and it was better than waking up in a hospital berth with all his armor still on.

His back was stiff though, and he could feel the chill nipping at his nose and ears. Inevitably, he sat up, hearing his back crackling in protest. He took that first deep breath one takes when waking up; his entire chest ached and he coughed hard, almost scared as he hesitantly pulled his hand away to check for blood. There was none, he sighed in relief. 

The flimsy wooden floorboards were chilled from the drafty cracks in the build, Geoff quickly grabbed his muddy boots and put them on, and tucked his pant legs into them. He walked by the open door that was Jack and Ray’s room; Michael was sitting in there on one of their overstuffed bags with his feet in a bucket of water. Geoff stopped and looked on crookedly for a few seconds.

Michael shot his gaze towards Geoff, his deathly glare put-off by the dark circles around his eyes and the redness of his cheeks and nose. “What happened to you?” Geoff wondered. Michael flipped him off so Geoff stalked away.

In the main room he found Gavin being restrained by Ray as Jack was tending to the festering wound on his calf. The green-clad Archer was wiggling around fruitfully and shaking his head, Ray looked apologetic, Jack look _this close_ to sedating the lad. “Geoff help he’s using magic on me!” Gavin screeched. 

“I’m trying to help you idiot but you won’t hold still!” Jack argued, shifting positions to try and hold the leg in place.

Ray sighed, “He’s been screaming for 10 minutes, are you sure he’s an adult?” He wondered, looking very tired.

Just then the door opened noisily and the wind whipped inside, there were loud footsteps from back in the house; Ryan stumbled in the front door just as Michael came charging out of the back with his sword in-hand. “Woah, woah, woah, woah-!” Geoff could hardly process what was going on but he had time to grab Michael around the middle and hold him back. 

“You fucking asshole!” Michael screeched upon being held back. Ryan recoiled and looked hurt and guilty at the same time.

“Michael I-“

“No shut-up, I don’t want to hear it, I shouldn’t have been nice to you anyway, it never got me anywhere in life!” 

Geoff understood the feeling but couldn’t help but feel bad; as the younger man had come so far in his level of trust for the group, so much so he’d been sleeping deeper at night and leaving his sword in the sheath. None of that mattered anymore, at least not towards the Creator. “Michael, it’s fine, whatever happened dude you’re okay, we’re all okay-“ Geoff whispered. But oddly, his musing didn’t help and Michael continued to struggle in his grasp. 

“What the hell did you do Ryan? Did you leave him outside last night what happened?” Gavin asked worriedly now that him, Ray, and Jack had temporarily ceased their medical session. 

Ryan fidgeted in place, his knees quaking a bit as he was still healing from his injury in the Nether; he looked guilty and felt just so. The explanation that followed was interesting.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh I haven't updated in ages I'm so sorry. But life still sucks and school is hard. But we are coming up on the 1 year anniversary of the original posting of chapter 1 so that's pretty cool in my world. 8)

“So, hear me out, if I got my cut on my right leg, and you have a scar on _your_ right leg, what if that means we’re like… soul mates or something?” Gavin was not even joking, evident by his aghast tone. 

Without a word Michael reached over and palmed the younger man’s face and pushed him back many paces behind him. Geoff caught him and smirked as he began to explain the logic behind his wacky accusation.

Ryan was floating far behind the pack as they continued their journey east, the mountains blended into a blur with the raging storm trapped by the range’s high peaks; though without freezing rain whipping at their still wind-burned faces, the group was reminded of the still, bitter cold of winter in the lowlands. The shadow of the mountain made the world seem as confined as a snow globe, make the jungle biome in the distance seem like nothing more than a low quality picture painted onto the sky to deceive them of the never-ending horizon.

The grass beneath their boots crunched as they strode, the icy crystals relieving the stiff greenery for the time being. Ray was entertaining himself by bending his knees just enough to let the tattered end of his cape drag the ground and collect the icy crystals before fluffing the fabric and sending the prisms in all directions as they caught the light in a sparkling display. Every now and again he would wince, and Jack would look overly worriedly. “Your ankle still bothering you?”

The answer was yes, but Ray kept assuring him he was fine: in the Adventurer’s mind there was no sense in wasting any more medicine just because he was a bit sore, he could only imagine how tight and pressured Geoff’s chest must feel in the aftermath of tuberculosis, or Gavin’s leg (as the lad had yet to allow himself or Jack to truly help him).

As the day progressed, nothing happened. There was no storm, no sudden, random attacks from Creators or crazy kings, the most that happened was that when they sat down to a lunch of dried beef and month-old peaches Geoff threw some jerky at Jack and it hit Gavin in the face so the archer thought it a good idea to tackle the other man. The result was Geoff tickling Gavin into submission and using him as a chair until the young man started expressing legitimate concern for the non-broken status of his ribcage.

Jack had a mouthful of fruit when Geoff said something that made him laugh hard enough to almost joke, Ray laughed boisterously watching his partner go between coughing and laughing while Geoff giggled after he noticed Gavin got his finger stuck in the mouth of his canteen. 

Sitting apart from the group, sewing a tear in his jacket, Ryan smiled as he listened to their laughter fill the frigid air; that and their sniffles and coughs from the same air biting at their noses and throats. If Ryan had been certain about their future then maybe he could have been happier in that moment. But the uncertainty of his escapades behind the scenes were not unfolding as he planned.

Not that he had ever really sat down and thought of a plan; not once since that first day, decades ago scaring Joel into following him blindly until the fool went mad and had to be taken care of, had he or Kdin sat down and thought of a plan that lasted beyond the next couple weeks or a few months if they were feeling productive. 

So even still as his friend drew closer and closer to what Ryan was hoping was safety: he was worried, and he was more than scared. 

He heard footsteps and looked up. Michael was standing in front of him, his posture was tight but not intentionally intimidating, and the same went for his taught facial expression (although the dark circles under his eye threw off his atypical look). 

Neither of them spoke, but Michael attempted to keep eye contact although Ryan was guiltily looking elsewhere; their friends still laughed and talked in the background. “Apologize.” Michael stated plainly, voice even but not cruel. 

Ryan looked straight at him, his own expression that of skepticism, “I don’t understand.”

“What the fuck is there to not understand-“ Michael started as his voice began to grow in octave, before he stopped and breathed loudly through his nose, stealing his anger, “I want an apology.” He said again, “I don’t care why you left me outside, I’m guessing you left to do something and your stupid golden blood made you forget how cold it was or something I don’t give a shit.” Again his voice took on a disgruntled tone but still did not elevate into a yell. He paused and let out a soft sigh, “But you were half dead when you stumbled out just to help me so,” He knelt down and held out his hand, “I’m sorry, for being an asshole before. You know as well as anyone I’m shitty at controlling myself.” 

Ryan was eager to take his hand and shake it, a careful smile on his face. “Thank you, Michael.” He began, “I have no right to call you a friend. I’m so sorry I thought I’d be back quickly and then I forgot I had left you sleeping outside and it was unbelievably shitty of me. I’m sorry.” Ryan sighed.

“Tell me where you went.” Michael said sternly, releasing the other’s hand.

Caught off-guard, Ryan breathed in sharply, his hand, the one not still suspended in the air, gripped his kilt as he scoured his mind to find a good excuse. 

Apparently Michael saw the guilt on Ryan’s face because he reached out and snatched the Creator’s collar and hauled him to his feet before storming off, yelling to Geoff that they were going to get more water for whenever they decided to finish their impromptu picnic. Geoff waved, still distracted by a story Ray was telling- Jack side-eyed their many canteens of water clipped to his pack and gave the two retreating figures a confused glare. 

_._

Michael leaned back against the tree, sliding down until he was sat on the ground; he touched his forehead to his drawn-up knees and his eyes remained wide as he was still attempting to take in the information that had been presented to him in quick succession. 

Unable to make up a suitable response to Michael’s adamant and consistent questions, Ryan had spilled his guts, his heart and soul and all the secrets that had been weighing him down for, in the short-term, a month, and in the long-term, many decades. He admitted to being a caretaker for Geoff when he was a child orphaned by his murdered mothers, watching over Ray when his scumbag parents abandoned him, keeping an eye out for Gavin in the years after his brother was killed: everything.

Ryan was stood motionless, arms down and ready to possibly have to protect himself from the Hunter’s rage at any moment: he said nothing. 

There was a tiny voice that was muffled, so Ryan strained to hear, “So you could have stopped them.” He made out the words and took a hesitant step forward, not quite understanding what the other meant. “All those years ago,” Michael looked up, his features twitching slightly, “You could have stopped Heyman and the others- you…you could have _ordered_ them to do whatever you wanted and you… _you just..watched._ ” 

Ryan was scared, enough so that his knees were shaking and his heart was pounding a thousand miles an hour, but he felt guilty enough to remain in place and not retreat, to not seem like he was scared; he owed Michael that much. He waited, for many minutes he waited and had to put forth an effort to regulate his breathing. At any moment he was expecting an outburst, to suddenly be stabbed or beheaded, or at the very best be beaten to unconsciousness and woken up alone and freezing in the tall grasses.

The last thing he expected was to hear the silence finally broken by a choked sob, followed by many more, and eventually they subsided to be replaced by a quiet weeping that persisted. Something in Ryan broke and he dropped to his knees in the frozen grass in front of his friend but not yet daring to make physical contact. 

“You could have saved my fucking family; my brother and sister, my mom- _my_ fam…my _family_ , Ryan.” Michael looked up and there were tears on his cheeks- his eyes were red and puffy around his lids, and his angry, angular features were replaced with a vulnerable, broken grimace. Something in Michael had broken as well. 

Not wanting to be at fault, Ryan was tempted to tell him how he had been halfway across the world at the time making sure Gavin survived the night drunkenly wandering around the woods, but something told him (mostly via the Hunter’s lack of violent outburst) that Michael’s reaction was the result of years worth of pent up rage with no outlet other than blind anger. 

Ryan knew, without so much as a muttered word, that he was not to mention this instance again. And Michael understood, without needing to think too hard on it, that exposing Ryan’s truths would do more damage than good. _Mostly to Ray. Especially to Ray._ He thought between sobs. 

They both had their secrets. And if both were to avoid mutually assured destruction; their secrets were safe.

“I’m so sorry.” Ryan murmured, daring to reach out and touch Michael’s knee with the utmost delicacy and respect; like petting a wild bear. There was a small, jerky reaction initially but ultimately Ryan’s hand was not chewed off; and the two remained as still as the frigid air for a few more minutes.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey I just want to send a big thank you to everyone reading seeing as though today is the 1 year anniversary of me starting this fic, and I've gotten (mostly) only positive feedback and many people who have continued to comment and support me even when I would go a month without updating. You all are just wonderful and I love you all. I hope you enjoy this chapter. 8)

Brandon eyed the terrifying man before him, stood in the center of a vast open mine said to have been carved by ancient dwarves many centuries ago; the walls seemed barren- nothing but rock and shale- but by the light of Miles’ lantern the dark rock glittered and shone its otherwise hidden mineral deposits. 

Kdin seemed distracted by the eternal emptiness of the chamber; even his two abnormal eyes were cast top ward in awe. Miles was flying around the upper half of the cave, shining his light and running his fingers along the glittering surfaces he found with a stupidly youthful grin on his face. The behavior was simultaneously odd but normal; because while Miles never cared for the riches of his, or any other peoples, he had always been easily enamored with the simple beauties in nature. Such as; sparkly rocks. 

Although Brandon felt out of place as he stood awkwardly on the floor of the cave and looked around for the minerals they needed to collect while Kara and Chris were off getting the rarer gems. He saw nothing. 

“Sir,” He croaked nervously. All three of the older Creator’s eyes flipped towards him and made Brandon shy away. “Have you seen King Heyman recently?” 

Jenzen seemed surprised, eyebrows raising just enough to portray his feeling, “Heyman died many moons ago, youngling, why is it so important?” He explained nonchalantly.

Elsewhere in the cave, Miles heard him, dropped his lantern and forced his lethargic body to propel himself back towards his companions in time to grab his friend by the arm before he could fly out. “Brando calm down buddy!” Miles urged, pulling the other back as the shorter man violently tried to lurch away. 

Taking a few steps back, Kdin bowed his head, “My apologies Lord Farmahini, had I known of your care for the late king I would not have been so blunt with my response.” By that time, Miles had Brandon calmed down so he wasn’t struggling anymore but the younger man’s face was still wrought with sadness. His robes dragged the floor as Kdin approached the youngling Creator and looked solemn, “What was he to you child?” He beseeched.

It took a moment for Brandon to respond, and he did so with a broken voice, “He was like a mentor to me, or maybe a dad, I dun’know.” He sniffed. “All I know is that one day I woke up alone in a desert and the next day, Joel found me crying in a shallow, sandstone cave. He told me who I was and what I was and gave me a home.” He rubbed his temples with his fingers and sighed, “I stayed with him for 30 years before Miles insisted I accompany him for training.” He floated to the ground and wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees, “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him. Not when Miles took me, and not before he…” 

No more words were spoken on the matter, Miles knew it would be fruitless to explain the cruel nature of the former King Heyman; how he took pleasure from the suffering of others- suffering that had no reason for being brought. No, that information was for another time, another place in the distant future. “I’m sorry child.” Miles heard Kdin mumble before turning swiftly on his heels and striding off. 

_._

2 days later along their trek, Ryan propelled himself high into the sky, the cold air blasted against his face and made his eyes water, but it felt like heaven on his almost completely healed legs- with nothing more than raw skin left to be calloused, and a few scrapes; he felt better than ever. The physical wellness factor coupled with the weight lifted from his chest had him bursting at the seams as if he were just learning to fly again.

“There’s a village just a bit to the northeast, we could stop there for lunch.” Ryan called down to them excitedly. 

Geoff looked up with a hand over his brow to shield his eyes from the midday sun, which did nothing to warm the air but created the allusion of a pleasant day, “Yeah that’s great but can you get down here; the risk of catching a glimpse up your kilt is making me nervous.” 

Smiling, Ryan lowered himself to fly alongside the rest of them, beginning to talk with Jack about building an “awesome” tree fortress once they reached the jungle, to which Jack responded eagerly with formulated plans and mental schematics he had for the very same reason. 

Ray smiled brightly, not so much minding Ryan’s closeness to Jack as he once had, and realizing he rather liked that there were others who could make the ginger smile like that. He surprised himself with his lack of jealousy. 

However when he glanced back to where Gavin’s voice was coming from, Ray frowned when he saw Michael with his hands shoved into his pockets and looking at the ground- completely unresponsive to whatever the younger man was saying- which was odd. So Ray slowed his stride until he was walking alongside the two, “Hey Gav, I dare you to run over and jump on Ryan while he’s flying.” He whispered. Gavin seemed immediately interested and nodded without any more convincing needed. 

Now alone with the Hunter, Ray bent over to try and make eye-contact as they walked, “Hey man you okay?” He wondered quietly. The response he got was a tired grunt and a quickened pace, “Michael.” Ray grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back to walk in-step with him, startled when he received no verbal backlash for the action. “What’s up?” 

Michael jerked his body away and continued walking, but wasn’t avoiding Ray, “Let me ask you something,” He began after a few minutes of silence- his voice was mannered and withheld and he refused to make eye contact. “If Jack told you that he could have done something to change your life drastically; how would you react? And I mean like- he _didn’t_ do something and it ended badly but he…he _coulda_ done something that would’ve…saved a life.” Michael concluded, expression caught between confusion and sadness, “Many…lives.”

It took a minute for Ray to let the question sink in, “Well, Jack has been my whole world for as long as I can remember; if he’s ever done something, or rather _not_ done something, that could’ve improved my life, then he’s done a fine-as-fuck job of hiding it.” Ray chuckled, glancing up at the orange head of hair walking ahead of them. “But uh, metaphorically,” He continued, softening his tone, “I’d be pissed. Like if it was his fault that you died, and he’d willingly chosen to not do anything about it? Yeah…yeah I’d be pissed.

But Jack is my partner,” Ray admitted, kicking a rock on the ground, “And…well I love ‘im, and I don’t think there’s anything he could ever do to make me not forgive him.” 

Michael looked up at his friend and the faint red tint along his cheeks peeking out from under his white mask and he grinned, “That sounds a little gay dude.” Ray looked over and mock-punched his arm, laughing boisterously. 

“I mean it though.” He continued in a lighter tone, “If it was a stranger, then I’d be more apt to seek revenge, but, if it was Jack- or any of you guys for that matter- I wouldn’t dwell on it because I know that you’re all good people at heart.” He turned his gaze forward, apparently finished saying what he had to say.

Silently, Michael kicked himself; Ray hadn’t been a good person to ask a metaphorical question of: not only was he a huge sap when push came to shove, but Ray had all the more reason to be angry at the world than himself. Not that Michael downplayed his own struggles; he doubted many people could admit to bearing witness to every person they ever knew slaughtered in front of them while lying half unconscious in their own blood.

His experiences were of great importance to him and his character, they morphed him into what he is today; from waking up in the caves, to losing his family, and even the talk with Ray continued to define who _Mogar_ was. However he found it hard to not downplay the hardships of others out of his own self-pity. The talk with Ray had sobered his arrogance and forced him to vividly recollect on the fact that too many other people had experienced pain on a more finite, and grander scale.

Ray was “the last” of his kind, and if not the last, then one of a scattered, dying breed; most of the people he’d met were convinced his blood was dirty and he was better off dead, or a slave. He’d heard secondhand stories of how his entire race was slaughtered in a kind of global holocaust: paintings on the walls of caves and temples, all of it bearing down _that much more_ on the Adventurer. 

While Michael had a long list of reasons to be spiteful and angry at the world; he wasn’t the only one. He had to remember that.

_._

They were all welcomed into the small township as one would expect, a couple kids ran up to them, ogling the newcomers with easily awestruck eyes and bombarding them with questions before their even-mannered parents grabbed them and mumbled a few apologies. 

Ryan had since landed, knowing far too well that flying around most people would set them off: the deep-seeded hatred for Creators ran deep through the roots of most people. But still he was eyed, mostly by the elders who sat hunched over their chess boards and creaky rocking chairs, and Ryan began to wonder how many of them could have once bore witness to the cruelties of his father- whom he very much resembled. The thought made him shudder; if there was one thing that made him hate his body and the very blood that ran through his veins; it was the relation to his father, and every member of his bloodline that came before him. 

Geoff grinned when he handed a completely dulled stone knife to a young girl with combed brown hair, she thanked him and ran off to show the other children who waited nearby, obviously too nervous to come out themselves. 

As towns went, the one they found was pretty large and seemed to rely on the low-land agriculture that lay sprawled out beyond the edged of the town, although the fields lacked crops in most places obviously due to the inclement winter weather. The buildings looked battered but sturdy, and were much nicer on the inside, they realized, when they walked into a pub. Walls made of polished spruce wood surrounded them and rich orange lighting came from electric lamps overhead. The fact they had electricity and were using it for things as simple as lighting was proof that it was more than a backwater valley town. 

The tender came to them and lead them to a round table with a candle and a pitcher of water in the middle, handing them each a hand-written menu on stiff parchment paper, then placed 6 cups on the table and left. 

A minute or so later a waitress came to the table with a pad of paper and asked for their drink orders, “Beat whiskey for me.” Geoff answered.

“It’s fucking noon Geoff,” Michael mumbled with a smirk, and Geoff shrugged. “Uh, the water is fine for me.” Michael said to the waitress. 

Ryan smiled politely, “Lemonade if you could.”

“I’ll have a local beer,” Gavin quipped, “I got you Geoff, there’s no bad time to drink.”

“Ice tea, please.” Jack said.

Ray shrugged, “Orange juice?” The server nodded and hustled off. 

“This place seems nice.” Gavin mused with a content smile, still sporting a dark bruise on his forehead from when he tackled Ryan mid-air and got thrown to the ground. 

Jack nodded in agreement, “And I love the interior decorating in here; it’s modern with an old western twist.” He turned his head around continuously looking at all the little details.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Ray chimed in, “You remember that one place you built for the summer and all you did was decorate it with was horseshoes and ropes and gas lanterns?” 

In response Jack chortled, “And we fought about it for a month because you kept trying to take the lanterns down!” 

“You built the house out of wood it was a fucking fire hazard!” 

Jack went to retort but found himself giggling too much to get the words out, and he was still laughing when the waitress came back with their drinks. “You ready to order your food?” She asked in a well-mannered tone.

Hasty to reply, seeing as how he was a bottomless pit, Gavin answered, “I’ll have your sirloin steak, medium-well with buffalo sauce and a side of cut potatoes.” He handed the menu to her and sat back in his chair.

The rest of them ordered particularly large portions, from ribs to burgers and Michael’s veal; the waitress was going to have her hands full.

“Okay Geoff,” Gavin began, “You get 1 million emeralds every week, er, a million pounds of emeralds, but, you have to let a guy put something up your butt every day. Would you take it?” He asked with a stupid, shit-eating grin. 

Michael sighed and rested his head in his palm. Geoff laughed loudly, “Well, what’s he putting up my butt?” He wondered incredulously. 

Gaving shrugged wildly, “I dunknow, like, _okay alright_ , let’s say he’s putting a bottle up your butt everyday. For like…like half an hour you’ve got this bottle up your butt. But you get a million pounds of emeralds for it.” He leaned forward on the table and steeped his fingers in front of his face, “Would you?”

It took a few more minutes of figuring out the specifics of the situation before Geoff agreed that yes he would take the emeralds every week, but only if the guy doing the deed got nothing out of it. 

The waitress was eyeing them oddly when she came back around with their food, and Ryan felt horrible having seen her cringing as they were discussing it. But she was professional and asked them if there was anything else they needed before she left to get napkins and condiments. 

(Anniversary fanart of how Kdin looks in my fic. Bonus: an unfinished Ray doodle.) http://queenechidna.tumblr.com/post/109607649355/doodles-of-kdin-and-ray-from-my-fanfic-that-is


	31. For Monty

_There will be an update this Friday._

_We lost a talented artist, a friend, and a member of our family, and I believe Monty would want anything than to halt the furthering of art._

_I've had him scheduled to be in the fic towards the end as a Creator renaissance artist of sorts for a year now, and now more than ever I wish I could write who he was into the story._

_Some part of me wonders if he would approve of that. I hope he would._

_Remember to drink water and love yourself, and that it's okay to mourn, even though us fans didn't know him on a "personal" level: we love what he did and we love who he was, he is part of our family. And know that he would be so proud of you, for going on about your business, for not giving up; because that's who Monty was- a hard worker, dedicated to his passions. He was, and always will be, a huge inspiration in my life; his dedication to the task at hand always drove me to be better, even in updating this fic. He inspired every creative person in the fandom, and he adored every one of us._

_We will always love you Monty. Rest peacefully._

-Casey


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a very long chapter, but I have a lot to be getting done but I felt like I really wanted to update today. I might not update next week because I have tests and Katsucon to worry about and will be very busy so I apologize in advanced- perhaps I'll think up a Valentines chapter to fill the break in story line. Also I'll be cosplaying Mogar part of Katsu if you see me say hi. 8)  
> Love you all. You all keep going and never give up on your dreams; work hard and don't forget to love.

Ryan sighed, with a full stomach and healed body he felt better than he had in decades; he doubted it would be long before they got a meal of that caliber, so he had eaten two servings of pork and salad with a pint of ale and a glass of water. Ray also scarfed down what was probably half of their food supply along with Gavin, who upon reaching the stuffing point shouted _”X-Ray and Vaaaaaav!”_ before shoving a huge muffin in his mouth and nearly throwing up.

_”X-Ray and- what?”_ Michael had seemed confused. Apparently Gavin and Ray had been playing superhero when they were off supposedly getting water. 

The sun was getting low on the horizon; they had stayed hours past when they’d intended to leave, and so they were waiting for Geoff to decide if the time saved leaving in the night was worth bearing the elements and monsters of the world. Ryan himself hadn’t thought too much on it, because it was in his nature not to be afraid of animals, anything they did was in their own innocence and was more or less all they knew. That and he could easily fly away from a Creeper explosion, while the others could, so that made him think harder on the topic.

“I’m never moving again, you guys are going to have to carry me.” Gavin drawled, burping as he finished his sentence and flopping on the ground and leaning against a fence along a back path of the town. 

Ray eyed him, “Man it’s always something with you, if not your leg than it’s your full stomach!” 

Gavin bristled, “Oy, I can’t help it, I’m naturally impaired!” He huffed, “Plus the damn potion has only just started working.” He said with his arms crossed. 

Jack looked over from where he was searching through his bag, “If you had let me disinfect it weeks ago then you wouldn’t even have needed a potion. But you wouldn’t keep it clean or let me put in stitches.” He pointed out sounding the slightest bit annoyed. 

“Well it’s a little bloody hard to remember to clean my cut when we’re running off having a field trip in the goddamn Nether and walking through blizzards!” The younger man exclaimed, gesturing around wildly.

Off towards, what appeared to be, the town’s market, Michael was picking out assorted non-perishables, or at least the food that he could can or dry and store for their journey. He forced a small smile to his face, handing over a handful of bronze coins to a young girl who had offered him already canned peaches; he knew what he had given was twice as much as he owed, but he’d never been the type to carry around money so he was content with the joyful expression the girl shown when he insisted she keep the change. 

He sighed as he continued shopping, running a hand through his hair as he surveyed his surroundings, something that was top on his list of priorities when in a new place. The people were of all shapes and sizes, skin tones and dialects. Old Survivors rocking in their chairs at 150 years old alongside old humans at 102 years old (there was no indicator what class they were, but Michael figured there was a sort of gruffness to a man who had lived 50 years more than another and that was unavoidable). It was all very serene. 

Michael hated it.

This was the festering domesticity he’d avoided since the day his family was killed, this was why he liked having Geoff as a partner; because he didn’t give a shit about pleasantries or family, granted he was a horrible sloth on occasion and enjoyed the finer things when they were available- but he was Geoff, it was all taken lightly. But _this_ : children running around underfoot, people smiling and greeting him as he passed, people handing him a free apple or orange because “he looked like he could use a pick-me-up.”. It was kind, and gentle, and domestic; and it made his chest tight.

This is what he had, this was his life; he’s avoided it because he can never replace it.

Michael stepped out of the market and looked across the courtyard where the rest of his pack was just hanging around and recovering, digesting their hardy meals and waiting until their bellies didn’t ache. They were all smiling, and the tightness of his chest was relieved enough for him to breathe freely again. He realized that every day he stays with them, he’s gaining back what he had, and that doesn’t upset him- but that fact in and of itself did upset him. It wasn’t fair, he wanted to be angry, to hate all of them: to hate Ray’s storytelling, to despise how Jack made everyone smile, to ruefully huff in the face of Gavin’s antics or Geoff’s jokes. 

And he especially didn’t understand how he didn’t hate Ryan with every fiber of his being.

He didn’t, he cared for them; they were his team, maybe even his friends.

_._

“Gone?” Gavin exclaimed incredulously, “What do you mean he’s gone?” 

Geoff sighed, rubbing the back of his head, “I mean he left sometime last night; one of the night guards told me he’d talked with him briefly before Michael ran off.” His eyes were cast down at the floor of the tiny inn they’d stayed in. “Left most of his stuff aside from his sword and backpack. He’s done it before.” Geoff seemed unsure of his own words.

Gavin slumped down onto the bench he had been sitting on eating breakfast, resting his head in his hand. His expression was confused and sad, so Geoff placed a hand on his shoulder and sighed again, “He’ll be fine buddy, really, you’ve seen how he-“

“I’m not worried _about_ him Geoff!” The lad lashed out, “He didn’t-“ Gavin sighed, averting his gaze, “He didn’t even bother…” Geoff knelt down when the younger man wouldn’t speak and kept a hand on him, this time on his knee. “He didn’t even bother saying goodbye.” Gavin pointed out meekly, tilting his head down. 

“He’ll be back, he always comes back.” Geoff assured quickly, standing up to the sound of his crackling knees. “Now c’mon buddy, let’s go get Ryan, and the wonder twins from the honeymoon suit so we can get going. Odds are we’ll catch up with Michael in a day’s time.”

Gavin didn’t move even once Geoff stalked away to wake up the others, he watched his pancakes grow soggy and unappetizing as the syrup soaked into them, the pulp of his orange juice gathered on the top of the drink, and he didn’t touch his toast long enough that the butter dried up and the bread got cold. He vaguely realizes Jack had since sat down and begun talking to him, but he didn’t have the heart to respond.

Had he been too annoying? It wouldn’t be the first time somebody left because he was dumb and stupid and incapable of handing himself. A half-blind archer is no use in this world, Gavin speculated, Michael had probably weighed his odds of survival and left before things went bad; he didn’t blame him. _It must be because of me._ He thought rubbing his temples, _I was too much of a moron around him so he left. Good job Vav._

_._

Ray, Ryan, and Jack seemed to take the news better than Gavin had, however as they set off into the early morning mist, bundled tight in heavy, coarse clothing, no one really spoke much. Geoff, feeling as if he had a better understanding of the situation and what it meant, tried to lighten the mood with a few cracks at the humorous characters they’d met while staying the night. However no one took the bait, and there was hardly even a chuckle: Ray would occasionally whisper something to Jack but other than that nobody spoke.

As the day slugged on, the terrain became more hilly, steep inclines giving way to stumbling slopes, one which Gavin completely ate shit on; and only then did anyone crack a true smile. Ryan chuckled as he flew over the bush he had landed in, floating near mockingly above him for a moment as the younger man struggled to push his way out of the shrubbery. He reached down and lifted Gavin from where he was stuck, flying him further down until the ground lay flat, if only for a few meters. 

“Beauty and grace.” Geoff laughed, slapping Gavin on the back as he walked by.

The younger man bristled but walked on.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I haven't posted a chapter in so long and I'm sorry my life has been a mess and I lost my house and I need to work another job on top of the job I work part-time right now and just eugh. So update still wont be super frequent but since this past semester is over ill have some free time and I'll hopefully conclude this by the end of the year. I love you all for reading I'm still open to messages or questions. 8)

The satchels hung over either of his shoulders were weighing him down as he flew, but he supposed he would rather be focusing on the strain than of everything else on his mind. Their Ringmaster had appeared swiftly once they left the cave with more than enough iron, tin, and copper to finish this apocalyptic tool of destruction that their Ringmaster had thought up- he said little and drew himself away in a hurry. Brandon was only half aware of Miles talking to him, and his responses ranged from vague mumbles and unrelated grunts, and he certainly did not care when the sun set and his skin began to numb and the air stung him like a thousand wasps. 

There was no moon that night, and the constantly present winter-month clouds hung out of reach covering most of the starlight so his world, although dark before, had only grown desolate. 

Flying behind the younger Creator, a permanent frown present on his face, Miles wished something he could say would break through the other’s stupor. He understood loss and that Brandon needed his own time to get over it and any other paltry comforts he could find in solidarity, but the underlying presence of uselessness tasted sour in his otherwise dry mouth. There was no “Sorry Brando.” Or “I’m here for ya buddy.” That would ultimately remedy his sadness. 

On the other hand though, telling Brandon of the cruelties his friend committed in his own name would not help either and more than likely only enrage him. Nothing helped so Miles remained quiet for the time being.

_._

When Geoff woke at dawn, he couldn’t see anything other than rocks around him and the occasional patch of tough weeds that persisted in the barren landscape. Around him, Gavin still slept curled into a tight ball surrounded by his things and clutching his bow. Gently Geoff ran his hand through the lad’s messy hair and guiltily watched his limbs twitch in response to the contact: he was scared, legitimately and deeply insecure due to Michael’s absence, and seeing as though Ryan had flown off again, none of them were feeling particularly secure tucked back into a rocky alcove on the beach.

Ray hadn’t slept, or if he had it hadn’t been for long because he was sitting up awake, legs crossed and head staring forward out at the water of the lake with one hand rested on Jack’s arm (who appeared to be sleeping rather fitfully). “You okay?” Geoff wondered in a whisper. He got a half-hearted nod in response. “Is he okay?” Ray looked briefly at Geoff and then down at his partner. 

“I dunknow.” Ray admitted. His voice was weak and gravely, but more so worried. “I think he’s having a nightmare. But I can’t tell, he might just be fidgety I dun’know.” He sighed, “I can’t ever really tell the difference and I’m supposed to be his partner. How great am I?” He wondered, exhausted sarcasm in his tone. 

“M’fine Ray,” Jack murmured, moving one lethargic hand to pat his friend’s leg, “Jus’ worried about Michael.” In his newly woken state he sounded drunk, words slurring together and limbs flopping around. “You should sleep.” 

Ray smirked, “Nah I’m fine, you go back to sleep I’m sorry I woke you up.” He moved a few ginger hairs out of Jack’s face and tugged the blanket back up.

However Jack opposed and sat up, stretching his arms and yawning. “He doesn’t look good.” Jack pointed out, looking pointedly at Gavin as he put his glasses on. The two other followed his gaze and their expressions morphed into something of equal concern. 

Geoff dragged the heels of his palms over his eyes and crawled to his feet, each crack of his stiff joints caught by the surrounding rock and reverberated. “He hasn’t been sleeping right,” He drawled. Not that they all hadn’t had the misfortune or restless sleep, the absence of the Hunter took a particular toll on the youngest of them all. “Haven’t seen him smile all week, and with the jungle trees nearly in reach I was hoping it would help him but…” A long sigh escaped him. 

He stalked over to the edge of the lake, which seemed ill affected by the moon’s pull as it was motionless and glassy in the lowlight of the quiet hours, Geoff was feeling the encompassing shift of the night swallowing his essence. While his past was fuzzy even to him, he likes to think he grew up on a lake, somewhere quiet and peaceful where everyone knew him but no one bothered him; mostly those were just the fantasies of an old man who was growing tired of his fast-paced lifestyle. 

Geoff chuckled, he was growing more content with his discomfort, it sort of sucked.

A wolf’s cry sounded from many kilometers away, carried by the wind and spread among the valley; Geoff shivered and tugged his sagging color up. “Y’okay boss?” Ryan was next to him. He’s not sure when he got there. Ryan looked the man up and down and took his pale, clammy hand and led him back to the group, guiding him next to Gavin and pulling a blanket around his shoulders. “Go back to sleep Ramsey.” The use of his last name made Geoff smirk, even in his half-conscious state, but he did as told, a truly rare occurrence, and shut his eyes to rest.

“Where’d you go this time?” Ray chided with a certain amount of hateful gruffness, enough so that Jack placed a hand on his arm and gave him a look. 

Floating just above the dirt, Ryan stared forward into the inky night, “Nowhere important.” 

Ray sneered, “We’re down one particularly intimidating, inadvertent body guard; we don’t need you flying off when it most suits you.” He stood quickly and knocked Jack’s arm away in his haste. “Stay here, do what you said you’d do, don’t lie to me again.” He said pointedly, his eyes narrow daggers through the holes of his mask.

‘Ray…” Jack began, but it was too late, as Ray was already storming off around the rock face while clumsily buttoning his suit vest and stumbling on the loose sand. It was quiet for a moment before Jack sighed and pushed his covers away, “I should follow him.”

“Dont,” The ginger halted when he heard the other’s quiet call, looking over to see Gavin sitting up in his clutch of blankets with his hair sprung in every direction and eyes bloodshot and drooping with dark circles around them. “Let him go, he needs some time alone.” He pointed out with a great sigh. Jack opened his mouth to speak but the lad cut-in, “Even from you, Jack.” He sniped.

Ryan ruffled his hair roughly, “Watch it kid, go back to sleep you’re grumpy when you’re tired.” He chuckled, pulling back his arm before Gavin could scratch at him. 

Gavin grumbled, “Piss off.” And flopped back over, turning his back on them and faced Geoff, saying nothing else. 

“Leave him alone he’s right.” Jack spat with a certain strain to his voice. “I’m too crowding…clingy,” He pushed himself back until his back pressed against the rocks.

Ryan sighed and flew over, kneeling in the gravel sand in front of his friend, “He’s angry at me, not you,” He thumbed Jack’s chin until he was looking at him, “I don’t think anyone, especially Ray, could ever be angry at you.” He kissed the ginger’s forehead and turned around, flying up until the rock face no longer hid him from the moonlight and he was blinded by the white light of the moon. 

From where he stood, Ray sneered, tearing his mask off and throwing it on the ground, and pushing back against a dead tree: he knew it was everything suddenly going bad that had him in such a pissy mood, and that storming off wasn’t going to fix anything. “Goddammit Michael.” He ground out, staring upwards, eyes watering at the strain from having forced them open to stay awake. The stars were far away, more so apparent at that moment to him, but they were bright and mocked him, reminded him of the stories he so loved to tell and the ones he was making up for them: about the brave, fearless fighter with a sword of stars in his clutch and hair like cool fire and-

Into the night he spat a curse loud and angry, but there was no echo, just silence.

_._

“You’re joking right?” Chris chided, throwing Brandon’s satchel of ores down in disgust. Brandon flinched away looking confused and aghast whilst Kara stood by with her arms across her chest looking like a proud parent almost. “Two days and this is all you can get?” 

Brandon took the opportunity to kneel over and collect what was his and tie the bag closed with a thin rope, “Miles and Lord Jenzen have most of it, I couldn’t carry as much.” He defended himself in a tone-dead voice, doing his best to stare down the older Creator but hardly mustering a perturbed glance. “I did my part.” 

Chris chuckled, “Sure, a half-blooded screw-up like you? Could’ve fooled me.” 

Miles reached out and put a hand on Brandon’s chest and kept him from advancing before stepping into, what one might regard as Kara’s personal space, “Control your student, Eberle, he can’t have a mouth that big around here. If he pulls that shit around the Ringmaster or Lord Jenzen then-“

Kara laughed at him, flipping her pale hair in his face, “He knows who he can and cannot talk to like that. Don’t worry he’d never talk to you in such a manner, he’s trained well.” She motioned wildly with her hand, patting her young partner on the shoulder.

Gently, Miles turned Brandon’s shoulder and ushered him the other way, “People aren’t meant to be trained.” He momentarily followed his trainee, leaving the other two behind. 

“Don’t worry about them,” Kdin appeared around the bend, his violet darkness piercing through the already inky night. Both Miles and Brandon took a few careful steps back, looking at the intimidating half man before them, whose eyes, all three collectively, shone in a glassy shimmer and sat in the distance focused on nothing. “Heyman-“ He stopped himself, glancing at Brandon, “Lord Joel had quite a negative influence on them both, using his age as a crutch in the place of true wisdom. Though he knew many things and was very intelligent, he lacked the pride and grace one of his stature requires to feasibly pass as royalty though he was born with no priceless blood.” He spoke carefully and evenly, sparring glances at Brandon to gauge his reactions.

“But he was not without his betterments and positive influence. Both Kara and Chris are very strong-willed which I value in ones of our kind.” Kdin looked down with his eyes and let out a silent breath, easing the rigidness of his stance, “You are not without his influence within yourself Brandon,” He spoke softly, ghosting his fingers over the young man’s cheek, “I see the best parts of him in you; the free-will, his boundless spirit, un-doubting self worth,” He paused and noted Brandon looking meekly at the ground and tapped his chin upwards, “Well maybe we need to work on that last one.” 

Brandon smiled, he was grateful but sad, to keep being reminded and having to think about how he’d never see this person again, how Joel was really gone. He felt his throat constrict and his eyes burn and his breath hitch; he nodded, bowed, and drifted off, stifling his sadness and insecurity and wiping his eyes.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated for almost exactly 4 months I think?? I never planned to let that happen, life has been really happening but I've invested too much to abandon this!

Jack cupped his hands around either side of his mouth and called out, “Ray-!” He waited for a response and huffed when he got nothing but the faint cry of seagulls over the lake. It was almost deathly silent other than that, he knew the ocean was a few kilometers away and he could hear the crashing waves of high tide smacking the cliffs. 

It was in his nature to worry, he knew that, he knew he was a caretaker and always would be, although he understood Ray was born a restless, anxious soul and was prone to wander off. But when Ray didn’t show up next to him that morning when Jack went to boil drinking water, he became worried and went out looking, assuming the Adventurer had just dozed off taking a piss or something else equally ridiculous.

“Ray-!” He stopped walking and put his hands on his hips, huffing, “Where are you, idiot.? He mumbled.

A very sudden, hissing airsoft noise cut through the air past Jack’s ear- he let out a shrill scream and threw himself opposite the side of the noise. 

“Oi, sorry Jack!” Gavin called over, waving enthusiastically with his bow in the other hand, “I was actually aiming for your shoulder bag there, my aims a bit dodgy since the accident!” Next to the lad, Geoff was keeled over laughing, from the distance the signature chortling couldn’t be heard but it was obvious by the way his frame was shaking.

Jack stumbled to gain his footing in the loose gravel but he did and stood with his mouth agape, “You’re half blind you idiot have you forgotten!” Jack hollered, just happy to not be dead, hand clutching his bandolier, very tempted to toss one of his harming positions at the boy. 

Gavin used his bow to scratch his back, “Well, I have forgotten but then I went to close my eye to aim and I suddenly couldn’t see at all, but don’t worry I was looking!” He assured sounding nonchalant. 

“You’re missing an eye!”

“I’m not missing it I just can’t see out of it!”

“That’s the same fucking thing!”

“Oi calm down you donut I’m a professional archer, excuse me for trying to still do what I love even with a handicap! You’re just oppressing me!” Gavin huffed and crossed his arms.

Jack slapped his own forehead, “I’m not oppressing you, moron. You shot at me.” He sighed, “Oh nevermind.” He quickly rushed off to one sight and out of the younger man’s line of fire. He walked the long way around the lake, listening to the water lapping at the gravel shore and letting the chilly early winter breeze flip his hair and scarf however it so pleased; he would occasionally stop and be still, thinking maybe if he was silent he could hear Ray’s signature muttering somewhere along the tree line. He stopped when he saw a white object contrasted against the gray gravel near the trees: Ray’s mask? He tucked it in his bag and continued.

For approximately an hour he repeated this process, pacing closer to the trees when he thought he heard something, but when it ultimately turned out to be a spider or a sheep he would move on. There was a positive to having crossed the mountains, and that was that, as Jack walked, he could listen to the crashing waves of the ocean just beyond the ridge embankment ahead. Looking up, he saw the sky growing greyer than blue as it neared the rising ocean draft, mist lingered along the permafrost as he began scaling the ridge.

He tasted and smelled the salt in his nose and mouth, even the air was thick with mist that made his skin feel wet, his glasses were sprayed over and made the world look hazy. 

Once he breeched the highest point of the ridge, he scooted himself over and straightened up to take in the view, the shore was dull and grey as one would expect it to be as winter approached; he guessed soon there would be channels of ice woven throughout the rocky shore. The ocean seemed to end only a mile or so out as it was swallowed by the fog and the sound of the waves seemed muted by the thick air, to Jack it felt as if he was dreaming, as the world faded to grey around him he suddenly felt like he didn’t belong.

He wasn’t himself as he strode forward, his eyes unfocused and glazed over, his chest and stomach felt empty but there was an odd comfort in how out of body he felt, like for once he couldn’t be hurt. His thoughts went to the many years he spent alone: they were all like this, lonely, cold, spent wandering in a half conscious state of mind. It was too familiar: feeling like nothing, feeling like things were okay but they weren’t not okay- like the world could end just then and he wouldn’t care too much.

“Jack?” A pair of hands grabbed him, one on his arm, one pulling the strap of his messenger bag, and it jerked Jack back into his own head. He blinked hard a few times, raising a shaky hand to the one on his arm, feeling clammy skin under his fingers, a hand which was shaking almost as much as his own was. “Jack, bud, are you here?” 

“Ray?” Jack turned around, against the will of his lower body. It was then he noticed he was hip-deep in the ocean and the waves were splashing up onto his shirt and matting his hair. “Yeah,” He coughed to clear his throat, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes, “Yeah I’m here man.” He marched back through the shallows until his knees buckled and he slumped down in the gravel, turning over until he was sat just out of reach of the water.

Kneeling before Jack, Ray slipped his partner’s glasses off and began wiping the lenses with the dry part of his cape before placing them gingerly back on his face. “I was calling you for like a minute.” He mumbled, not making eye contact, “You walked right by me. I’d fallen asleep on the beach, you woke me up,” He inhaled shakily, “When you didn’t respond when I said your name I thought I was dreaming.” 

Looking pointedly at Ray, Jack became concerned, “I thought it was one of those dreams where I die, and…and this was the first one you’ve ever been in. So I thought maybe it wasn’t a dream for a minute and I didn’t have a problem with that…I know, I know that sounds bad, but I didn’t, I felt alright, cos it felt like I was just supposed to follow you out and go peacefully in the ocean and as long as you were there I didn’t care at all, but I would never, ever want you to die so young so I don’t know I think something made me realized that it couldn’t be a dream but I just- I just couldn’t let you. I couldn’t…I couldn’t let you die, I couldn’t let you come with me…”

He went on and on, stuttering and breathing shakily, looking everywhere but at Jack, his hands shook as he waved them around expressively, his hair was matted and looked dirty from spending a few hours on the beach. It took a few minutes but Jack reached up and grabbed Ray’s collar, only then did he stop talking. “Ray,” His voice was managed and even, as much as it could be after listening to his partner’s semi-suicidal rant.

The Adventurer looked him dead in the face, coffee brown eyes brimming with tears, arms limp at his side and his knuckles dragging in the gravel. “I’m sorry.” His body tremored with a sob, torso falling forward into Jack’s arms. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I just can’t take it anymore!” He buried his face in the ginger’s shoulder, “I thought we all had something!” He sobbed, “We were a band of fucking idiots who formed some odd amalgamation of a family, but y’know it was fucking mine and I didn’t want to believe anything was wrong and that I’d never have to let go of it!” He fisted a handful of rocks and slammed his closed hand against his leg. “But Michael’s fucking gone, and Ryan keeps disappearing; I’ll be surprised if we go back and Geoff and Gavin are still there…”

Jack was silent, rubbing his friend’s back, “I was stupid, stupid to trust them; stupid to want something that could never be fucking permanent…I feel like an idiot.”

“Ray,” Pushing the quaking man back, Jack looked him in the eye, “You’re not an idiot for wanting something that so many people are just handed. You’re not dumb for striving to achieve a placement in the world that most people are born into. _You are not any lesser than anyone else for cherishing what your heart desires._ Because this world has fucked us over, it’s fucked a lot of people over…” He breathed heavily, sloppily tearing through his bag until he retrieved his partner’s mask, thrusting it forward to rest on the bridge of his nose, then hugging Ray again. “It’ll be okay.” 

“Even if it’s _just_ you and I at the end of the world I’ll be happy.” Ray murmured, his voice cracked and gentle as he tenderly wrapped his arms around Jack’s waist.

“I will be too buddy.”

_._

“Tomorrow is a thousand years away, especially if I spend the rest of today standing around waiting for orders from our dried out ringmaster!” Kara spat, pacing back-and-forth on the balcony overlooking the smelting pits. The lava lit up her features in a violent orange, darkening every dip and sharpening every angle of her face, so much so that Miles was taken aback once he stalked through the doorway. 

Chris stood with his arms crossed near her, staring down at the iron being casted by their workers with distant displeasure, “Luna.” It was less of an acknowledgement and more of a recognition that caught Kara’s attention and made her stop pacing long enough to stride forward and size up her younger male counterpart. 

“Mulling over your obvious displeasure for the Ringmaster isn’t going to get this project done any faster.” Miles spoke evenly, voice stern, and frame unmoving even when Kara circled him like a hunting lioness. “So I suggest you and Chris get your asses in gear and-“

Kara chuckled in his face, an unnerving smile cutting off his voice mid-sentence, “Age before beauty, sunshine. You don’t order me around.” 

“I’m more fitted to lead by far.” Miles spat back with a cocky air. “My blood is stronger, and I’m smarter by far, not to mention more charismatic and able!” 

She sneered, standing back on her heels, “You’ve always thrown your weight around, relying on your ‘nice guy’ hoax to make the younglings like you and the elders gift you. While hard workers like myself have always been cast aside-!”

“Hard worker? You!” Miles eyes glowed a bright yellow even against the lava’s illumination, “Your family has always backstabbed and swindled and lied to gain power and authority, I have no idea what makes you think that you’re some pureblood monarch!”

Wafting her hand in front of his face, Kara sneered again, “Yes yes, okay, that’s all good and well little court jester,” Her voice was melodic and mocking it made Miles twitch and fidget. She flipped up the hood on her caplet and glared the younger Creator down. “Your over confidence would keep this going for a century. And according to our Ringmaster we only have a couple weeks at most.” 

Chris popped up next to her, “We have preparing to do.” He sighed, sounding almost bored, “People to kill.” He giggled, “You know the drill: the whole southern village remains in-tact and un-bothered, we can’t have our guinea pigs walking into civilization.”

They both strode off, both with unnerving, knowing looks and confident strides, pushing past Brandon who appeared skittishly in the doorway, having changed into a brown tunic top and coal colored pants he seemed to have just woken up. The young Creator looked confusedly at his mentor as he walked forward, somewhat put-off by the blood-boiling sneer he showed. “You okay, Miles?” 

“Fine.” He spat. “Come on.” 

“Where are we-“

“With them, to clear the village.”

Brandon froze, face draining of color, “If it’s okay with you I’d rather-“ 

Miles grabbed his wrist and tugged him up until he was flying behind him, “Come on.”

_._

The village consisted of a large grouping of wooden homes and treehouses all linked together by ladders and/or wooden walkways both above and on the ground; there were rows of cocoa beans amongst the leafy foliage next to the sprawling tropical wildflowers. A warm river ran through the middle of the town; docks, boats, and fishing huts sat sprawled along its banks, and on the places where the river gradually banked children played in the sand where the parents washed clothes and dishes.

There were golems posted along the town’s exterior, lumbering alongside the heavily armored guards holding spears and swords. Vines hung from the canopy and dangled amongst the treehouses, some reaching all the way to the forest floor where one might occasionally swing from one to cross the river or spare a moment for fun. 

Kara was not even attempting to hide herself or Chris from where they were floating above a clearing, veering down at the survivors with a faintly amused gleam in their eyes. Miles stared down with a somewhat admirable pity in his eyes, but otherwise was cold and calculating; it was scaring Brandon, probably would’ve scared Kara had she been less focused on the village.

“Go.” Kara said, tilting her head just enough to acknowledge Chris and give him the ‘okay’. 

Flying down at an alarming velocity, Chris summoned a steel sword into one hand, and a forked blade in the other, both of which were custom-forged with latches on his arms to provide extra leverage. Brandon cringed, watching the other Creator mercilessly cut through the torso of the first person her came in contact with, their blood splashing those around them and coloring Chris’s face crimson. 

He went on, using the fork blade to either stab or pin someone to a tree or wall and the steel sword to make the kill, although he was more often than not fatally wounding them and leaving them to bleed out in pain. Brandon momentarily forgot how to fly and had to land in the nearest tree to vomit what little he had on his stomach.

A group of guards rode up on horses, accompanied by a golem, which they sent at Chris, pulling him away from his next victim and cratering him into the dirt, repeatedly beating his body causing him to bleed, his pale, sickly looking gold-yellow blood spattered across the golem and the ground alike. Kara intervened at that point, appearing behind the golem and raising her palm, lifting it into the air and dismembering it with her mind.

Miles landed amongst the chaos, stone-faced as the cries of the villagers rang in his ears, although he wasn’t bothered, not as much as he should have been; he knew every day he grew number to things like this, he knew it had to be done. Someone crawled to him, gripping his ankles and crying for help, for him to do _anything_. He put his palm out to her and sent a pulse through himself to her, killing her instantly: it was merciful considering the deaths that most here would experience.

Then he was tackled, but there was strength behind it that forced him to the ground, Miles knew it couldn’t be a Survivor, they weren’t strong enough to take down a Creator. “Stop this!” Brandon cried out, grabbing his mentor’s collar, “This isn’t like you! Why are we here? Miles please! Let’s just leave! If it has to be done then let them do it!” 

Throwing the younger man off him, Miles sneered, “This is our life, Brandon.” He stated matter-of-fact. “This is what all of our ancestors did! This is our heritage we’re trying to fix! To eliminate all of those who oppose us! Those who think they can make it without a ruling monarch!” He laughed, a nasally huff through his nose, “They’re idiots. They’re stupid for trying. For thinking we’d all gone away…”

Brandon was on the ground, backing away as Miles approached him angrily, “ _Heh_ , y’know _Brando_ , they’re all happy our kind has been away, they hate us!” He swooped down and lifted the younger man up, forcing him to look forward at the massacre, not letting him fly away when blood would splatter him. 

“This isn’t right, this isn’t…this isn’t what we do…” Brandon whimpered, shaking his head.

“This is what Joel did!” Miles yelled, releasing his student. “Oh yeah, Heyman loved this shit. He lived for it! Got off on it!” He ranted, not caring or hardly noticing the fear and pain growing in the younger man’s eye, the tense paralysis in his frame as he was frozen on the spot, too keen on hearing what had to be said. “This is what our lords have sent us to do: to rid the world of people like these, who have found false independence through a lifetime of borrowed solitude and hand-me-down enlightenment!” 

Brandon struggled free, flying just above the ground before his mentor, his eyes bloodshot and head pounding with fear and sadness and anger, “My mother would have never done this.” It was more of a reassurance to himself rather than an argumentative point, he needed to know that _this_ wasn’t in his blood.

“Your mommy was weak, why do you think you were born on the run and why do you think she abandoned you? She ruled her mother’s kingdom as a child, she was the last in a line of weak rulers. _I_ was going to restore your family name! The Farmahini tree wouldn’t end with the last remaining child, a mere runt she’d had out of wedlock with some traveler!” Miles was screaming, his voice peaking and his throat noticeably hoarse, his eyes hadn’t ceased to glow yellow, his pupils were specs. “And once we get rid of the weak chains like these people-!” He motioned wildly down at the slaughter taking place, “You’ll have a chance to fix what your mother couldn’t handle!”

At a loss for works, and choked by his own tears, Brandon shook his head, “You’re wrong.” He wiped his eyes and began to calmly glide past his companion, his jaw squared and shoulders tense, “I really thought you cared about me. I thought…” He breathed out a long, shaky breath, allowing himself a sparing glance at the older man before him, “I thought you were _different_.” 

It wasn’t until many hours later when the sun was nowhere in the sky, that Miles looked around him, the slew of corpses littering the ground, as numerous and lifeless as the fallen leaves, and only then did he feel the knot in his stomach and the tears in his eyes. He clutched his hair, revolted by how soaked through it was with blood and sludge; he screamed out into the night, not knowing or caring if Kara and Chris had stuck around to help clean up the remains.

He knew what had happened, what _was_ happening; he was getting old, his mind was deteriorating, he knew because he’d watched it happen to Kara and Joel no more than a century prior. Sudden flashes of violence, uncharacteristic brutality, a single-minded approach to a complex situation-

_Murderer._

Miles smacked the side of his head, stumbling to his feet and tripping over more bodies, he repeated the process until he felt the water of the river lap over his bloody clothes and carry the filth off with the current. 

_Manipulator._

His cries continued, renewing themselves with each glance he took at the mounds of corpses. Had he done this? 

_Abuser._

He didn’t want to be like _this._

_They deserved it._

He didn’t want to be like _them._

_It’s who you are._

He could fight it, he could-

_You are stronger._

He wouldn’t be like this he wouldn’t, he **couldn’t** , he was a protector, an artist, a compassionate capable person who would not be wh **at he’d seen his friends turn into, he’d be different he’d be-**

_You’re a Creator._

**Author's Note:**

> Please stay tuned for following chapters that will be up shortly, and I'd love to hear what you think about it so far in the comments. 8)


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